After the internet connection worked fine all weekend, with everything relocated to the kitchen table, I moved the computer back into the study this morning, and it immediately stopped working again. I am now in a secure unit – no, wait, I’m back in the kitchen again, and it’s working again. You may think this is a location problem, but I don’t think it is. I managed to reset the wireless channel, and I am more confident now that it will continue to work. No thanks to BT, though, who made me do the pointless resetting in the first place. As a safety precaution I am staying in the kitchen for a while.
The accountant duly came on Friday morning, and immediately after he left we went for lunch with the Higbees at Newton Flotman. Stopped to buy flowers on the way, which was clearly the wrong thing to do because it triggered a huge downpour, which continued all the way to Newton Flotman and into the afternoon. Very nice lunch and subsequent conversation, although I was feeling well below par, as I have been all weekend. I suspect some kind of food poisoning dating back into midweek, but I don’t know where it came from. Occasional diarrhoea, aches and pains in peculiar places, slight headache and so on. All the things you like to read about. But it didn’t prevent us fulfilling our multiplicity of engagements over a very, very wet weekend.
The most prominent of these engagements was Charlotte Robinson’s wedding to Chris Wickham on Saturday. It was the least wet of three wet days, in that there were occasional dry periods, which enabled the photographer to function outside for a while. Quite chilly, though. The wedding service was at Yelverton Church – very familiar ground, yards from our home for 12 years in Church Road. Nice to be back: we met the mother of the bride with the bridesmaids at the gate, all looking stunning. Uplifting service, and a pleasant reception afterwards at King’s Church in Norwich, where the food and everything was provided to an extremely professional level by church members. Lovely meal, and I was able to hear all the speeches before I had to make a rapid exit as one aspect of my below-parness asserted itself. Pity, I would have liked to chat with people, but they you are. What can you do? I’d recovered enough to meet Dot as she walked home about an hour later.
Felt pretty rough and had a less than perfect night, but was well enough to go to church on Sunday morning, which on this occasion was followed by a meal at Vicky and Jared’s. I was a bit worried about this for obvious reasons, but in fact my condition gradually improved and I was able to enjoy more splendid food, including a quince crumble, which you don’t come across every day of the week. Plus some really good conversation with our hosts and with Howard and Anna, David and Bridget and Helen and Rob, who brought delightful little Florence (2). Amy (3) showed prowess at jigsaws and elsewhere and took a motherly interest in Florence.
Got home (after transporting Howard and Anna) just after 5pm and surprisingly felt well enough to drive to Lowestoft with Dot to read some poetry as part of a New Words, Fresh Voices evening hosted by Ian Fosten, an old friend who used to be a governor at Tuckswood School when Dot was deputy there, and later lived on Lindisfarne as the URC minister. He is now remarried and owns the Seagull Theatre. Lovely setting in a very basic way and an unusual evening, opened by a three-strong band of youngsters who could go far. Called Hilltop Mile: remember, you read it here first. Chatted to one of them – a very likeable lad. The rest of the performers were much older: the poets were mainly women of a certain age, plus me and another man of similar age. The cast was completed by an acoustic guitarist who was good in a very straightforward sort of way. To be honest, some of the poetry wasn’t very good, but it all had redeeming features. I read two poems in the first half and three in the second. They seemed to go down well, but everybody was being nice to each other. The audience was about 20-25, many of them quite young.
We got home about 10.40pm, and it was still raining. Today is different only in that the rain is closer to a drizzle. The sky is still grey, and the lights are on. Margaret Malt has just called for one of her pictures, which I brought from Oxburgh Hall for her, and I am expecting Alan Higbee later, to pick up my old computer. I think I’ll have some lunch.