Tag Archives: godfrey sayers

Idyllic evening at Wells

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Nearing Wells beach. East Hills in the background.
Nearing Wells beach. East Hills in the background.

Norwich City have just gone 1-0 up against West Ham and then been pegged back to 1-1. It’s half time. Dot has just finished doing some sorting in the garage, I’ve pruned the roses in the front and we’ve both been into the city to purchase a white board that will stick on the wall (for p4c). On the way we met Mairead, who was about to go to London for an overnight celebration of Freddie’s 13th birthday, and Martin and Lena, who are about to go to Thailand on holiday following the death of Lena’s mother in St Petersburg.

Death is in the air: June Wallace has died, and we will be heading to Ipswich for her funeral on Wednesday. Ethel’s funeral last Wednesday went off very well. It was sunny, and the little church at Bracon Ash looked beautiful. The vicar was excellent, and I read a poem written by Dot’s mum. David came up from Caddington and was able to stay for the reception at Park Farm Hotel in Hethersett. The Hendersons also came but left Park Farm before the food after they realised there were plenty of people there (Angela had worried there would be too few). Spoke to most people, especially Donna and Andy and Ian and Tina Limmer.

Not many more  people turned up the following day for the Archant summer tea party at Dunston Hall: probably about 50, against more than 100 for the average Christmas dinner (now discontinued). The food was nice, and I sat at a round table that included Julie Bedson, Frances Pearce, three printers and the new CEO, Jeff Henry, a Scot who is very easy to talk to. Frances Dyer and Ann Gilliam (formerly Walsh) were at the next table with Terry Reeve, but that about made up the total of those I knew well enough to talk to. No EDP subs at all.

Lot of eating this week: Cake and Compline on Monday at Claire Carrington’s, and cake and fish and chips for Dot and me at Wells yesterday. The cake followed our purchase of a Godfrey Sayers painting at the quayside gallery, and the fish and chips (shared) followed a subsequent walk from the town to the beach. The tide was very high, and the sea was calm. Bubbles of gas or air were rising to the surface by the boardwalk on the main beach, and we watched the sun glinting off fishing vessels returning to harbour. Pretty idyllic really. (Final score 2-2.)

Braving our unhealthy atmosphere

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David and Chrissy outside Number 22

Our optimism was ill-founded. I was feeling so ill by Saturday evening that I couldn’t join David, Chrissy and Dot for dinner at The Dining Rooms. Dot herself had been bad but was improving a bit by then and was able to have a good time with them. I managed Sunday lunch at home with them before taking to my bed again.

All very disappointing, but it was lovely to see them both happy despite the unhealthy atmosphere (David himself wasn’t too well, having caught something off the children), and it was great that they could come.

On the Friday I had had to cancel my intended visit to the launch of Godfrey Sayers’ book in Holt, and on Sunday I didn’t make church, of course. On the Monday I missed the PCC, as did Howard, who also had some kind of virus. There’s a lot of it about. Dot heroically attended as St Augustine’s sole representative.

This was a full-blown case of the kind of upper respiratory tract infection that I used to get routinely when I was younger – debilitating in the sense that you can’t do anything involving your head for more than a minute or two: talking to people, reading, watching TV and so on. I haven’t had it like this for years, I don’t think, and hoped I’d grown out of it, as I seem to have more or less grown out of hay fever.

Dot wasn’t feeling at all well either for some days: she gets a lot of catarrh and sneezing, but not quite the acute facial discomfort, I don’t think. Perhaps she’s just more resilient, or more determined. But I don’t think so, obviously.

She was out in the city yesterday, and has been to have lunch with Carrie today. I managed to get up to the Rosary, where there was brief bit of weak sunshine, but I still feel very tired and clogged up. The hounds of spring are on winter’s traces, but let it pass. (You have to be a big James Thurber fan to get that one. Unless you happen to click here.)

I should have mentioned that Phil popped round last Friday afternoon for a cup of tea, despite my virus warning. He declined a lift home.