Tag Archives: grave

7 March 2008

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A close-up of my parents’ grave, with the marble refurbished and new headstone. Hope Andrew likes it, as he’s been wanting it done for a long time. He’s due to come to Norwich next weekend, so we shall find out. I think it looks pretty good. Next week sees the anniversary of both their deaths – mum on the 11th and Dad on the 13th – his 52nd and her 14th. Sandwiched neatly in between is Phil’s birthday, something he is not going to forget.

Today the weather is bright, but still blustery. Quite a bit milder. Dot has just gone up to see the nurse for a routine check-up. Tuesday evening went well, with a rather splendid salmon dish for eight cooked entirely by Dot. Afterwards we listened to a tape by a guy who was really too laid back for that late in the evening and spoke very slowly. So although what he said was good, people started falling asleep. One of the things he said was that if God stopped loving us we would cease to exist. The same goes for everything created. I rather like that.

Wednesday was very stressful for various reasons, mainly to do with the insurance company but partly because I got the results of my blood test, which were not as good as I had hoped they would be. So it seems likely that I will have to have the mammoth 20-strike prostate biopsy, which involves general anaesthetic but is only a day procedure. Ironically I feel fine and the symptoms are much less than they were a year or two ago, but you can’t argue with PSA levels. Apparently. I spoke to the consultant’s secretary, but although she said she’d get back to me, she hasn’t. Is this a good sign or just normal incompetence?

In the evening I played chess at Diss, which involved picking up two team members – one from the other side of the city – and driving there, which took a total of about an hour each way. We lost 3-1, but I managed a draw on Board Two, though I was disappointed to miss what might have been a win earlier in the game. We had a strong guest player on Board One, but he lost to Mike Harris, as most people do.

Very poor night’s sleep on Wednesday – about four hours – and I had to get up early yesterday to give a talk on poetry at Costessey Junior School for Sheila Greenacre, who’s a friend and the assistant head. Managed to get there in good time, and the session went very well, partly because Sheila is a very good teacher, partly because they were an excellent set of children. Used quite a few of my poems, but also a couple of others – notably W B Yeats’ He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven (Yeats is a brilliant poet who never quite got the hang of titles). One of my favourites, and they seemed to appreciate it. I thought of doing it as I was lying in bed at about 5am, trying to sleep.

Afterwards we went to Dunston Hall for a bar meal and to make arrangements for our ruby wedding do in August. All went well, but by the time I got home I was pretty well shattered, and we plonked in front of the TV and did some more catching up. While Dot did some work preparing for next inspection I watched Van Helsing – a horror film that’s surprisingly good. I don’t normally watch horror films, but I’d heard it was exceptional, and it is.

In the evening I took the momentous decision to stop watching or recording Torchwood after viewing a particularly tedious episode about someone who is supposed to be walking around dead but acting normally. I love Dr Who, but this spin-off totally fails. The lead character is supposed to be charismatic, but is a smug bit of nothing with no redeeming features. No-one is interesting, the scripts are wooden, and the direction lacks any spark at all. You just hang on waiting for the one new idea to come along, and too often it doesn’t. There’s also a nihilistic background philosophy, which grates. It’s very unusual for us to stop watching a series we’ve started, but last night’s episode was just too appalling. There was no reason to go on, and if you lived in the Torchwood world, it would be hard to see why you would want to. No motivation, either for the viewer or the cast. I have stopped loving Torchwood. It has ceased to exist.

4 March 2008

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Granddaughter Amy turns on the charm – something she’s extremely good at. Meanwhile her brother Oliver has learned to swim underwater. I personally have no problem getting under water, but I can’t swim there. I can sink quite well. Oliver has also started e-mailing us, so it’s clearly just a question of time before he has his own website.

Dot has pretty much finished the living room, and all the pictures have been rearranged, because some of the frames didn’t suit the new paint. All looks good, I have to say. We’re just back from the city, where we ordered new insides for our sofa cushions to try to stop them falling forward. I wonder if I would stop falling forward if I had new insides. We also put some money in Dot’s ISA, so of course we got the hard sell about switching to an online one. I really can’t be bothered arguing any more, so we’re going to do that. Needless to say, we’ve heard nothing from the insurance company. What would it take to get them to react? A pile of manure on their doorstep? No, I’m not going to do that. Oh, I don’t know. It’s an idea.

Bought some food from M&S and then had a look at some lights in John Lewis. Weather is very cold and windy, as it was on Sunday (Mother’s Day), when we went to North Walsham cemetery and also to the Rosary, where we found that my parents’ grave had been totally refurbished, with a new headstone and words. Looks really terrific. I haven’t had the bill yet.

It was cold yesterday too, when I played for my club’s A team at The Goat, Skeyton, which is so in the middle of nowhere that I suspect the home team were hoping to pick up a few points from defaults when opposing players couldn’t find it. Well, we all found it (I know it well, of course), but we might as well not have done because only our captain managed to avoid losing. I played weakly again after my momentary resurgence in February.

Saw the nurse again this morning, who repeated her usual mantra that my blood pressure was just below the level where they would start prescribing things. I’m amazed it’s not higher after this last week, but even if they do prescribe things, I have no intention of taking them.
Instead I have an olive oil spray to get rid of some of the wax in my ears. How romantic is that?

I’ve submitted a couple of poems and short piece of fiction for the Fish competitions. I think the piece of fiction is really quite good, so it clearly has no chance. That’s the way competitions work.