Very odd feeling this Monday morning, as if suspended between two realities. The heat has receded a notch or two, with Barbara and Oliver’s morning walk interrupted by rain. Yesterday was extremely hot – so hot that we stayed indoors a lot of the time. We discovered later that it was the hottest July 17 in Ontario since records began. Nevertheless there was a certain amount of pool activity and two excellent meals materialised from Barbara. How does she do it? Rob came out from Toronto again for the evening meal and took back three postcards from us to put in the mail.
Children pose on the doorstep: Jackson, Oliver, Seth, Amy, Sophie
Farewells were said around 9pm as Chrissy, JD and family departed for the last time, to much sorrow. Both our children were very quiet, and O was inconsolable. The rest of us spent a quiet couple of hours in front of Bottle Shock, the story of the Napa Valley wine success story, in which Alan Rickman was vintage. Barbara went to bed early, but the rest of us saw it through.
This morning, as I said, things were very quiet. I went in the pool with Amy, and Oliver excelled at Monopoly after watching JD’s tactics the previous day. The sun came out and it’s hot again, but not uncomfortable.
On Saturday, while Chrissy, JD and the children went bowling, followed by a pizza, the four of us went into Toronto again for a meal – this time at Nota Bene on Queen Street. I had a superb Wangyu burger with fried egg after salt cod fritters, followed by grapefruit sorbet and excellent ginger tea. We rounded it off with a walk down Queen Street in the evening heat.
The magnetism of television: Seth, Jackson, Oliver, Sophie and Amy
Saturday, and so of course, it’s raining in England: “cats and dogs”, according to my sources. But here it’s still hot and very dry, and the children have returned after a shorter-than-expected stay in Waterloo, where they took in a water park and a museum, among other things. Jackson and Oliver also went for a couple of 6am walks together, which is nice.
Our Thursday meal was excellent – an Italian restaurant on King Street – and featured a superb sour apple cocktail, as well as top-notch rack of lamb. More or less fell into bed when we got home, but I had a very bad night with plenty of acid threats, and woke up feeling pretty lousy. But things soon improved, even though the girls departed fairly early for a Toronto shopping spree. This turned out well, as Dot bought some very nice clothes. Meanwhile Roger and I went to the local golf club, Gleneagles, and took a bucket of balls each on to the driving range. I hit some surprisingly good shots, 150 yards and more, with a variety of clubs, including a driver and (my favourite) a 5-wood. Some nice pitches too, but of course some rubbish as well. If you can do it right once, why can’t you always do it right? My very first shot (a 3-iron) was a zinger. No, not a singer: Pearl’s a singer.
Afterwards we spent about an hour on the putting green, and I did reasonably well at that too. Much better than usual, anyway. Following evening meal, outside as always, we toyed with going into the pool, but after much hesitation, making of apricot tarts etc, decided to watch Inception. Very clever film, though I would have enjoyed it more if my left eye hadn’t been burning all the way through. Not sure why. Too much sun? Spraying for insects? Some kind of pollen? Anyway I slept much better, and it had practically gone when I got up this morning and took an early dip in the pool, while it was shady and quiet. Then, after a Lighthouse Cafè breakfast by the pool, the children returned – and eventually found us.
I have finished Nocturnes, and it was superb. Made me want to write short stories again. I am now reading a thriller Dot bought for me in Bolton.
Roger, Dot and Barbara on the Caledon Trail near Pattison
The children left after lunch yesterday, and a strange quiet settled on Palmer Circle. The weather was slightly cooler, and so in the evening we went for a walk along part of the Caledon Trail, starting at Palgrave. We did about four miles, mainly at a brisk rate, and Dot and I narrowly avoided seeing a (harmless) garter snake that crossed the trail as we approached. Of course, we have only the Murrays’ word for it that there was a snake, but they’re usually quite reliable.
On the way back to the house we passed the rail crossing on Mount Hope Road, but failed to intercept a train. I had earlier written a poem called Looking for Heaven, in which a Canadian train appeared, along with Nebraska and various other features familiar to certain Ontarians. After supper we watched Easy Virtue, a film of the Noel Coward play that turned out to be unsatisfying despite a promising cast list. Twenty Characters in Search of a Plot would have been a better title. No pace, poor direction and, to tell the truth, not a very good play.
This morning we slept in and had a late breakfast. Continued heat is forecast, and tonight we head into Toronto for a meal. I’ve read three of the Ishiguro stories: he really is an excellent writer.
The Canadian connection: Karen and Pete Walpole, Barbara and Roger Murray, and...well...Dot
Suddenly I’m 66, which is not really what you want. Still, I’m feeling reasonably fit with only occasional awareness of mortality – say a dozen or so times a day. It has been warm or very warm ever since we’ve arrived in Ontario, and I’ve only left the Murray spread once – to do a three-mile walk over on Mount Hope Road. We’ve had visitors though: Chrissy, Jackson, Sophie and Seth arrived on Sunday and stayed, and Chrissy’s husband JD also came before heading back late in the day for work on Monday. He’s a psychiatrist and was on call while he was here, but he managed to get away with a lengthy phone consultation. Roger’s brother Rob also joined us for the day on Sunday. He lives in Toronto and is a freelance printing project manager.
The children seem to have hit it off well. Sophie is popular with both Amy and Oliver, and Seth seems very impressed with Oliver. Jackson is pretty independent, being the oldest. David and Chrissy are finding much in common again. There has been frog-hunting and much game-playing – badminton, cricket, croquet, baseball, even a bit of football. Also of course the children are in the pool as often as not.
On Monday the Walpoles came for lunch al fresco – a typically lavish Barbara spread – and Peter brought a slideshow of their new apartment in Barrie. Good to see them again. They’ll be in the UK in September.
We’ve watched a couple of films – Vantage Point and Red – both of them excellent. I’ve read The Redbreast, a Scandinavian thriller by Jo Nesbo which became compulsive after an irritating start which jumped about all over the place. David bought me Nocturnes by Ishiguro for my birthday: short stories. I’ve read the first, which was excellent. Amy and Dot went into Bolton with Roger and got me another book and come chocolate. Amy also made me a lovely card, and I got a great owl card from David and Oliver, plus one or two others – one from an adorable couple who I didn’t recognise (Oh, yes I did). Chrissy gave me one with a Nebraska theme after a landmark crossword clue, which was “Ordered state”. Since she had the first two letters, she thought this must be Nebraska. It actually turned out to be Neatness, which for some reason is hysterically funny.
Yes, I had a great birthday: very relaxing and climaxing in a couple of champagne cocktails, which was probably one too many. Slept well, though. Dot has been much-bitten, but got tablets from the chemist that seemed to help. Time seems to be passing slowly in the heat, but very pleasantly indeed.
David tries to block a throw from Oliver to Amy (hidden)
Here we are at last in warm Ontarian sunshine, all gathered in close proximity to Roger and Barbara’s pool. Granddaughter Amy has taken on the role of organiser in the pool, while Oliver is trying to teach Dot and me how to swim better. He shows talent for it, but in me he has a recalcitrant pupil. They were both very taken by the Murray property when we arrived at teatime yesterday, after a journey that was less than smooth but without serious impediment.
It began at around noon on Thursday, when Dot and I drove down to Caddington. No real problem, though a stretch of the A505 was closed and we had to detour through Royston. Great excitement at 1 Winchfield, from where the taxi whisked us away to Gatwick Premier Inn South. I say “whisked”, but we soon got snarled up on the M25 and had to do a lengthy detour through towns I was only dimly aware of. Journey time three hours, or about twice as long as it should have been. We disembarked wearily and ate a quick meal in the adjoining restaurant, where our waiter Arthur was a Lenny Henry double – in manner if not in appearance. Good food – and good service as it happens.
A different taxi turned up on time at 8.30am, but it wasn’t big enough to take us all, so David, Dot and the children went in the first one, and I waited for a new one, which eventually turned up and left me a little bit away from the main drop-off point for the south terminal, leaving me to find Departures by a circuitous route. Happily I ran into David eventually, and he directed me to Air Transat check-in, which was happily quick. Security wasn’t bad either.
We ate breakfast in Cafe Rouge and then made for Gate 15, where we had to wait an interminable time to board – nearly 45 minutes late. The journey was pretty straightforward, though tiring, and the three adults among us watched Unknown, a rather good thriller. More hold-ups at Baggage Reclaim, where we waited for ages before they even started coming through. As a result the Murrays had been waiting for us about 90 minutes.
Roger took the luggage, David and me, and the girls went in the other car. Lots of traffic, but we eventually made it, and suddenly it was all worth while.
The Rev Heather in the cloisters with Suzi Heybourne
Plenty of socialising in the last few days, with pleasant weather to accompany it. Matt is now lodging with us – so that’s continual socialising, though he is out most of the time (London for the weekend). He’s absolutely no trouble, even when he forgets his keys. But in addition…
On Saturday, a glorious summer day, Heather C was ordained deacon in the Cathedral in a magnificent two-hour service (with mitres) which featured my favourite hymn (I the Lord of sea and sky) and possibly my top Bible reading (Isaiah 6). I went with Matt, but several other St Aug people were at the Cathedral, chatting in the Cloisters and then at the Maid’s Head afterwards for a congenial party. Other friends too – including Mark and Suzi Heybourne, with whom I had a long chat – and to my surprise Philip Butcher, former chaplain at Norwich School Chapel, who coincidentally is married to the Rev Heather who is Heather C’s new boss: ie vicar at Cringleford. Delighted to see him. He’s hardly changed. Great party, which continued till 3.30, after which I walked home in the blazing sun and flopped out. Dot was unfortunately not with us, as she was at a Teach First exhibition and focus group at Reading on behalf of Philosophy4Children – also very successful, so a good day all round.
Peter Jary and Clive Wright
Another party on Sunday afternoon, this time at Poringland Comunity Centre for Peter Wright’s 75th birthday, and his son Clive’s 40th. Had long talks with former friends and neighbours from the village, including people from David’s generation – Barty, Keith and Peter Jary, as well as Elaine and Clive, of course. Clive is now living in Tuckswood with Sharon, a former parent of Dot’s (as she would put it) at Tuckswood School. Peter has a new partner, Helen, and a new baby. Keith has a girl friend in Mauritius, and Barty is now studying plant science. Also spent time with Jarys, Barbara, Bernard and Mary and of course Denise and Peter. Really enjoyable in a nostalgic way.
Yesterday, after a very hectic day which included Dot spring-cleaning the house, we entertained Menita and Regis for a kind of farewell meal: they are leaving for Paris at the end of the month. Went very well (starters outside in the garden), despite their arriving about half an hour after we thought they were due, which meant the food was less than hot. Delightful evening, with Menita very Italian and surprisingly passionate about politics while Regis tried to keep the lid on in a very French laid back way. We now have a standing invitation to their French home, Naples and so on.
Aunt Kathleen, who died aged 90
The reason it had been such a hectic day was that my aunt Kathleen died early in the morning. We had been to see her on Friday, when she found it very hard to communicate, and we felt she was on the brink. As it happened, we were probably the last people apart from the nursing home staff to speak to her. When Paul was called on the Saturday morning because she was “deteriorating”, she was already unconscious and never came to again, as far as we can tell. She was 90 and had been struggling; so death must have been a relief to her. During yesterday I contacted various people, including her stepdaughter in South Africa, and dealt with several calls from Paul. I also collected the death certificate from Bowthorpe health centre – a real trek in the severe traffic which has been engulfing the city recently, with people looking for new routes because of several road closures.
Today we have just had our hair cut, and I am due to register Kathleen’s death this afternoon, before dropping off the certificate to Paul. Other tasks yesterday included buying a Homebase voucher for Donna (I was reminded by a chance phone call from Howard, to whom I later delivered it), dropping off clothes for cleaning, and then paying in cheques, getting some more currency and buying a football to take to Canada as present. I should be getting enough exercise.
Crane feeding its baby at Pensthorpe: the unhurried lifestyle
Yet again time has flashed by since my past post, and here I am at the start of a significant new era without having adequately chronicled the last seven days. Today the two of us will be joined by a friend, Matthew, who will lodge with us until the end of July. He is house-hopping, because in August he moves to stay with other friends. September? Ah, that’s when he moves even further – to Palestine to take up a post with a mission organisation specialising in education, which is his area of expertise. Not the sort of secure existence that most of us yearn for: the (at least temporary) absence of a home must be difficult. We shall do our best to make him feel welcome.
It’s been another busy week. Of course. I think I’m now prepared for our Canadian excursion, except for buying the currency, letting our card providers know where we’re going to be and checking what I need to do to stop my mobile phone from racking up a huge bill. Dot has been rushing from school to school, mainly fulfilling her DSSO obligations, and this will culminate on Saturday, when she hurtles down to Reading to take part in an education exhibition on behalf of her company, Philosophy4Children.
So our lives have often been taking different courses. Dot missed a sparsely attended DCC meeting, a walk round Norwich with Paston poets on a burning hot Sunday afternoon, a Naked in Norwich private view in St Benedict’s on Monday evening and a nine-mile Paston Walk on Tuesday. Not that she would have come on that, any more than she would have come to my three-hour session on Writing News yesterday afternoon for a Bridges creative writing group. These are people who have mental health problems but are still functioning pretty well, and it was a surprisingly enjoyable time. I did get paid adequately for it too, which is only fair considering the amount of preparation that I did. I used the “Welsh cousin rescues woman from car” story as an interview/press conference tool, and it worked nicely.
The walk on Tuesday was interesting. It was hot in Norwich, but by the time I reached Paston there was a chill in the air from a sea mist, which made walking easier, though I wasn’t really dressed for it. Fortunately I had a fleece which I donned to supplement my shorts. It was supposed to be a six-mile walk, through Edingthorpe and Bacton (via Bromholm Priory) and back along the coast to Paston, but I actually measured close to nine (partly because I was unable to find a critical track from the clifftop across a wheatfield and had to walk it back again to find out where it started – after going a longer way round in the first place. Encountered a couple and their son at Edingthorpe who used to live there but had moved to Heacham. The husband had two drawings of the church inside. Engaged me in conversation for a while (then again on the road, and again at Bacton Church), and as a result I missed the fish and chip shop at Bacton and had to be satisfied with an ice cream. Managed to fall over quite heavily in Bacton, but threw myself on to the verge and avoided serious injury – or even trivial injury, if you don’t count a graze on my arm.
The Paston poets’ meeting on Sunday (to discuss our next project) featured a drink in the Olive Tree before a walk up Elm Hill, a quick look at St Peter Hungate and a pause at St Andrew’s Hall, which was conveniently shut. Three of us (Kay and Adrian with me) then walked on to King Street, dropping in at Dragon Hall and Julian’s cell before taking in the plaque at the Music House – allegedly the oldest house in Norwich. It was preceded by lunch at church to say farewell to the Cracknells: Heather is going to be a curate in Cringleford after her ordination on Saturday. Moving occasion – Paul led the service and Heather preached. Nicholas did a final liturgy that included the children, Rhianna and Finnan.
Another big church event was Donna’s wedding to Jason in the old church building. She is a very quiet, lovely woman with four children whose former husband left her. Her friends and family, however, were pretty much all noisy, and the reception at the hall afterwards – and at Dunston Hall in the evening – proved boisterous. Other than Donna, Nicholas and Heather, we knew practically no-one at the Dunston Hall hog roast, but we sat at a table with congenial people and had a good time. Very kind of her to invite us: Dot has always been close to her after they were in a small prayer group some years ago. They will be living in Gorleston in future, so we lose another church presence in The Lathes: Donna has been making bookings for the hall, and this will pass to Cheryl, our cleaner.
Naked in Norwich was a Twenty Group exhibition to which I was invited by poet Hilary Mellon, who opened it (she booked me for Bridges too). It was (self-evidently) a collection of nude drawings, and I amused myself trying to distinguish between guests who were artists, models or simply friends. Surprises at the private view: Elvira, our Peruvian friend from church; Rosemary, the librarian from Archant; Philippa, the stone-cutter; Martin Mitchell, the artist whose etching we own; and Sandra, the artist I collaborated with a couple of years ago. Plus a few others. Sadly absent: Rüthli Losh-Atkinson, the other artist I collaborated with and a fine drawer of nudes, who died not long ago.
Funny how soon you can get fed up with rain. Day one: Disaster. Drought is looming. Day two: Not enough rain to lay the dust. Day three: At least the farmers will be pleased. Day four: It’s raining again, and I keep getting wet! Day five: Won’t it ever stop raining?
I’m on Day Five, and I suspect I was there on Day Three. I’d really rather it didn’t rain at all, and some other method was found of watering the earth. Or maybe it could rain only in the early hours of the morning. How could that be bad?
So my walking activities are curtailed, and my weight is rising. OK, I could go out properly attired and soldier on, but somehow when you live in the city it doesn’t seem the same. So you don’t. I mean, I don’t. Yesterday I did go out, but only to see C, who was in dire straits and desperate to be visited. Most of the day was spent preparing a session on Writing News, which I’m doing for Bridges, a creative writing group run by poet Hilary Mellon for people with mental health problems. Today I went to see her and ran through it. She seemed a little bemused, but then not many people know what a subordinate clause is nowadays. I’ve also checked my financial report for tonight’s district church council.
Dot has been rushing round various schools and writing letters and filling in forms. Day off tomorrow for Donna’s wedding. Meanwhile I got a call out of the blue from the Pensions people, who seem about to pay Andrew his Pension Credit. At last. I hope.
Fifty years on, fifth-formers from 1961: Kiddell, Manhire, Lunn, Riches, with organiser Adrian O'dell
It was showery last Thursday. Rose a little early to take the MX5 in for service, MOT and renewal of Mazda Europe Assistance. Dot collected me, and we returned home in time to take Lucy to Dragon Hall for a meeting with Sarah about the November Paston event. We were picked up again nearly two hours later by Dot (it had started raining as predicted) and we left Lucy to buy a ticket at the station while we proceeded to Oaklands Hotel for carvery lunch with Josephine, Paul, Phil, Joy, Joe and Stephen. Food pretty good, but service unexceptional. I showed Paul a letter for him to check, requesting power of attorney for him over Kathleen’s affairs. He did check it: just as well. I thought Kathleen’s middle name was Ruth, for some reason, but she doesn’t have one. In the evening I went to a Paston trustees’ meeeting where we discussed a lease which will probably never happen. Still, it wasn’t too onerous.
Friday started dry but quickly became very wet indeed. Went to Valerie’s funeral in early afternoon: quietly and impressively done by deacon from St John’s Cathedral. Afterwards went to Black Horse for tea and coffee with Roger, Philip, Jessie, George, Fiona, Ray and Janet. Then on to Blakeney, where we booked in and eventually met up with Alan and Rosemary, who were waiting in their room when we expected them to be at the Blakeney sun lounge. I say “sun”… Enjoyed tea and scones with them and then returned to our own hotel to await the arrival of Dave and Julia from a meeting at Ipswich. All got together successfully for evening meal.
After a very bad night (acid reflux) I was awake in good time to leave by eight o’clock without breakfast (hotel breakfast starts at 8; bathwater lukewarm) to pick up Fred from West Runton for morning at CNS reunion. Called in at Aspland Road to pick up Dot’s Scottish skirt – to show to Julia, not to wear at the reunion – and arrived at CNS about 9.30, the scheduled time. Surprisingly, most people seemed to be there already. This was a reunion of boys in the fifth form in 1961, but most of my L-stream seemed to have given it a miss. Few that I knew: Fred, Roger Prince, Adrian Manhire, Clive Monen, Richard Percival, Peter Bussey, Colin Kiddell (who lived in Tuckswood). Tony Plumb (now Friedlander) was one of the organisers. Struck up conversation with Chris Sutcliffe, who had been a chess player, and one or two others during grand tour of school. The east side new buildings were a real mess, and I lost my sense of direction very quickly. The new Arc centre I had been in before, to play chess. The old building was still quite recognisable, and about two-thirds of the field were still there – unlike the hallowed lawn in front of the building, which is now mainly a car park. We ended up in the new canteen, which is roughly where the old one was, but it overlaps into the area where the old School House stood. Here we had a coffee break and then a Speed Updating session that to be honest didn’t work too well, partly because of the difficulty of hearing what each other were saying in a crowded area.
After this Fred and I slunk away – I dropped him back at West Runton before proceeding through heavy rain to Pensthorpe and a rendezvous with Dot and the Evetts, who had already done the tour and were eating lunch. Went back into the reserve to look at the exotic birds, and we caught a post-feeding talk from a seasonal warden in the viewing room, which answered several questions (eg What bird is that?)
High water evening at Blakeney: an iPhone picture
Much better night, but Sunday was a very wet day. After breakfast we walked into Blakeney, and Dot bought two necklaces and some garden hooks before we were rejected by one restaurant (“preparing for Sunday lunch”) and found ourselves in the Blakeney Hotel again – downstairs in the Boat Room this time, with tea and coffee. Impressed by decor. Then on to Binham, where we lunched at The Chequers before embarking on a 4-mile circular walk in the continuing steady rain. Ended up at the Priory (once owned by the Pastons): quick look round the ruins, then to Memorial Hall for tea and scones. Was not going to buy any books from sale, but others lingered, so I did. One a copy signed by the author with personal comments, so could be valuable. Back at hotel I found I’d missed a call from David, so drove up the esker where I got good reception and had a Father’s Day conversation with him while he turned the mattress (well, he stopped turning the mattress while we talked…) Another good evening meal, and after drinks three of us (Dot, Dave and me) walked down to the front to look at the high tide. Beautiful evening: took picture with my iPhone.
Monday dawned bright and comparatively warm, though there was a chilly breeze. After breakfast we paid the bills and I had to get some cash to pay Dave his deposit back, having forgotten my chequebook. Meanwhile Dot booked us in at Cookies. The two of us then packed and strolled down the front, where the water was very high again. Called in at art gallery and bought some cards, then bought an ice cream and sat by duckpond like two old stagers to eat it. Then off to Cookies to meet Dave and Julia for a very predictable Cookies meal, which is either wonderful or OK, depending on your feelings about cucumber and beetroot. We then called at Wiveton fruit farm for some (wait for it) fruit and went our separate ways. We arrived home around 4pm and took it fairly easy. Found a lovely Father’s Day card from David.
Today has been dry but overcast. Dot has visited a couple of schools and I visited Kathleen so that she could sign the solicitor’s letter and confirm that her middle name is not Ruth or, in fact, anything. She was sitting up watching the tennis but very lacking in energy. No real change. Afterwards I called in at Morrisons to get food for tonight. I was working on my Writing News session for Bridges when a package was delivered: a “best of” CD by The Band – a Father’s Day present from David. So I’ve enjoyed a three-day Father’s Day, which I have to say is rather nice. Wimbledon has started, so Dot is in front of the TV a lot, and mostly awake.
Another avant garde, innovative, not to say derivative, bit of camera work at the Bergh Apton sculpture trail
Doesn’t time fly? And so much happening… Last Friday, for instance, it rained quite a bit. We had excellent lunch with the Higbees at Newton Flotman, made a quick visit to Diocesan House to pick up documents for Dot, and then made for Bungay in the evening. There was a private view at the Cork Brick gallery : Annette and two other women, Diane Griffiths and Georgina somebody. The theme was animals, so not really my cup of tea, though Mike’s incidental drawing of a horse was stunning. Annette had some interesting new ideas as well, and Diane had some pretty nifty book work on show – particularly liked one called Book of Salt. Martin and his girlfriend were there, and we spoke for a while to Jane West (McClintock), who writes poetry and is from Norwich.
Down in Suffolk again on Saturday, when we were invited at short notice by June W to an early pizza supper (home made) at Beccles. Preferred the crumble afterwards, and the budgerigar – though the latter was not part of the meal. It appears to have replaced a dog, which has to be good. June seemed on good form, though she deteriorates markedly when you speak to her on the phone, as I did a few minutes ago. She has an appointment with the gynaecologist, which is a good thing: she has been trying to speak to one for ages.
On Sunday I preached a Pentecost sermon and Dot led the prayers at short notice. I had forgotten to mention to her that she was on the rota. In the afternoon we went out into the chilly, soggy winds of North East Norfolk and took flowers to the cemetery (it was the anniversary of Dot’s mum’s death). Afterwards we visited Judith Rand at Bacton: she is recovering from a double bypass-plus operation. She showed us around her impressive Great Barn house, which would be worth well over a million if it was not in Bacton but Blakeney. Still couldn’t believe it when she said she didn’t think she’d get more than £400,000; she will be selling soon because she can’t look after it on her own, especially now. Afterwards called in at Jessie’s, where we found Roger waiting for his evening meal. Still managed to fit in a cup of tea, but we were home before 6pm.
Monday’s weather was much improved – quite warm, in fact. I called in to see Kathleen. She looks very frail but seemed pleased to see me. She finds it hard to talk and can’t hear easily, so it was bit hard going, but I was very pleased to be there. Read to her a bit from the Bible at her request. Am now involved at Paul’s request in getting him power of attorney. Earlier I bought Dot a new printer, as the wi-fi is so erratic on the one we have. After consulting David, we now have two printers, both connected by wire to their respective computers. That should sort it out. There are times when advancing technology is just not worth the bother.
Yesterday I returned to 12 The Close, where I had tried unsuccessfully to pick up some library lecture tickets the day before. It turned out that I should have been picking them up from the Cathedral Estates Office, and not Friends of the Cathedral, as I had assumed. Well, which would you have guessed if you just had the address? Tuesday Group in the evening featured a rejuvenated C, who had experienced a big improvement after we prayed for her the previous week. Today I have had a high number of phone calls, all from real people and relevant to life as we know it. Exhilarating.
