Strange weekend. Dot was in bed most of yesterday after going to a meeting at Hempnall the day before and feeling rough. It was the sort of day that wouldn’t persuade you to get up, if you were in any doubt: dark and damp again, with only a Norwich win to lighten the gloom. I slipped out to the supermarket, and for the first time in living memory couldn’t find a parking space until I’d cruised round a while. Cooked a chili con carne on my return, which went down quite well.  The clocks went back to confirm that this really was winter approaching, and then as if to dispute it, today was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Went to church, where Phil survived my usual attempts to slaughter the rhythm of a hymn or two, and in the afternoon drove out to A Ethel’s at Hethersett to deliver a letter from my grandson, thanking her for his birthday present. This was much appreciated. On the way home stopped off by the river at Cringleford and took a few nice watery photographs. One of my favourite spots: my mother used to play there when she was a child, which is nearly a century ago. While I was taking pictures a couple of girls were also doing the same – possibly university students. This evening Dot and I watched Deja Vu, and I’m tempted to say we’d seen it before, but we hadn’t. Good film, but required quite a suspension of disbelief. That’s OK. I can do that. Excellent Thought for the Day from Clive James this morning on the merits of scepticism, with special reference to climate change and golf ball crisps.