Tag Archives: golf

Suddenly involved with all these rivers

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The Waveney at Syleham

Here we are at Saturday again. Doesn’t time fly? The week started with another poetry reading at the Seagull Theatre on Sunday. Dot came with me, and I found myself reading about a dozen poems because so few poets had turned up (well, it’s the middle of August). The audience as always was small but appreciative, and I enjoyed it , as did Dot. We had quite a long conversation with Ian Fosten, and I now find myself intimately involved with a project centred on the Rivers Waveney and Blyth  – if you can be centred on long things that wind around the countryside.

Most immediately, this means I have to write about half a dozen poems involving the two rivers and their environs, and if possible accompany them with pictures – by September 1. As my knowledge of the area is sparse, this means I have to do some swift travelling, and I started yesterday by “discovering” the source of the Waveney. This is in a ditch near Redgrave, which coincidentally is the name of friends who are visiting us on Monday. They mentioned they might drop in on the “ancestral” village of Redgrave on their way up to the holiday home at Kessingland, and so there was an outside chance I might see them there, but unsurprisingly this didn’t happen.

Still, I walked a bit around the ditch, which looked suspiciously dry. But there was a “Waveney Trail” which included part of the nearby – and very watery – Redgrave Fen. The trail also ventured into some nearby woods, but these were unexceptional. Took a few pictures and drove onwards to Billingford bridge, which was interesting,  and another bridge nearby over the River Dove, which wasn’t. Next bridge was at Syleham, by an old mill, and that was beautiful: got one or two nice pictures. At Homersfield, close to the famous Black Swan pub, I discovered the oldest concrete bridge in the country. How do I get this unpoetic information into a poem?

I ended a very warm afternoon at Bungay, where I parked at the golf club and walked down a side of the course, where the river makes a loop rather more graceful than any of my golf shots. Here I got a really good picture of some canoeists, but left without completing the course as I wanted to meet a carpenter who came to look at our living room table. Just got back in time, and it seems he will be able to fix it.

Haven’t written any poems yet, but I have been jotting down a few ideas, in between finishing what must be the most depressing book I’ve read – Stoner, by John Williams. It’s a beautifully written story of a college lecturer who is a good man but without the basic awareness you need to survive: his wife is extremely unpleasant and probably unhinged, and through lack of fight he allows her to ruin their daughter’s life. There’s much more to it – including some important comment on intellectual passion or lack of it – but you get a profound feeling of emptiness which, on reflection, may be because there’s no reference to any deeper purpose of life, either supernatural or spiritual.

I’ve managed to do quite a bit of walking this week, but it doesn’t seem to have had much effect on my efforts to lose weight. When Dot went to see Anne on Tuesday, she dropped me just beyond the bypass, and I walked past Whitlingham Hall and down to the broads, then (with a few delays and excursions) back up Whitlingham Lane and into the city. Continuing the rivers theme, I discovered how the Tas, Yare and Wensum meet, though without much help from the Broads Authority, whose notice at the confluence of the Wensum and Yare is hopelessly inadequate. Why am I suddenly involved with all these rivers?

On Wednesday, as a kind of precursor to my Bungay stroll, Dot and I played pitch and putt on Mousehold. At first my putting was terrible, but it improved towards the end. Mostly my pitching was reasonable, though I did have a bad patch in the middle. Dot was steady in both areas, and we ended up about level, though the dubious card entries showed she won by a single stroke. We were both under 100 – which sounds a lot, but is only just over 5 a hole. Or just under 6. We need practice, and have pencilled in a session with the Robinsons on Easter Monday. The same day we finally got to watch the final film in the Harry Potter series (3D), and it was impressive. We also saw JK Rowling on TV searching for her French roots, and she came over very sympathetically. Fascinating story, too.

On Thursday we had a lovely evening with the Robinsons and their friends from London, Jean and Alan: dinner at Prezzo’s followed by coffee at home. Dot seems to have recovered completely from her tonsillitis, and my mild fluey sort of virus (if that’s what it was) has also abated. I have taken to cooking roast chicken. Dot has spoken to her doctor and is going ahead with her colonoscopy at the end of the month: purely precautionary – no symptoms. My blood test came back “normal”, which doesn’t inspire me as much as the previous “undetectable” and “perfect”, but I guess it’s OK.

Bucket of balls and a shopping spree

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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.

Just call me McDowell

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Dot and Tim on Waxham beach (by Elvira)

Monday night turned out very well. Not only did I avoid hearing the Ryder Cup result and was able to watch the tightest of finishes without knowing that Europe won by a single point, but I won my chess game too. That match was also a tight affair: my team beat King’s Lynn 2½-1½, and I won the deciding game. Just call me McDowell. That meant we went through to the next round of the Williamson Cup, where we will almost certainly lose to hot favourites Norfolk and Norwich. Ho hum. It must all mean something.

I continued my winning ways by beating my nephew Joe 3-o at rapid chess on Wednesday, which is better than I usually do. Meanwhile I had been working on my course for church magazine editors, which after seeing Parish Pump editor Anne Coomes today I am still not sure will happen. She is very keen, but it is hard to pin down exactly what’s required. I picked her up from Belsey Bridge (formerly Ditchingham) conference centre just before noon and we had lunch at the White Horse in Trowse. Good fish and chips. We then spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the course, what would and what wouldn’t work, plus other more personal matters before I dropped her off at the airport just after 5pm for her trip back to Manchester and home.

Dot meanwhile had spent a sparkling sunny day at Diocesan House followed by a visit to a school at Carbrooke. She is now at the new-look Ambient Wonder event – First Thursdays – mainly in order to get a video from Matt. I was excused on the grounds of looking tired. And feeling tired actually: Anne had what she described as the end of a cold, and I am a bit nervous about being exposed, especially as I have to drive the P4C stars to Henley on Monday.

Before that I have to write and deliver a sermon. I am now officially a trustee of the Paston Heritage Society, having been voted in by Lucy and Jo. Lucy has to spend some days in Papworth with a chest infection, so I am suddenly 50% of active trustees. I ought to know more about it than I do. Today was National Poetry Day. That ought to rhyme, but it doesn’t. Typical.