The week continued on its breakneck course, with plenty of Christmas preparation: cards, presents, carol service preparation and so on. The weather has turned very cold, with a brisk wind, but it is happily bright and dry, both of which get my vote.
On Thursday we went to Sue and Roger Eagle’s in Hempnall for lunch, preceded by a brisk but chilling walk round the village. Then came an excellent spicy cauliflower soup, which would have been enough for me. However, it was followed by a pork main course and a small but rich sweet – at the end of which Dot had one of her funny turns, where she goes into a cold sweat and can’t move. I got her to the loo and she recovered, but not really enough to stay, and I took her home, where she collapsed on the sofa.
From disparate sources we later discovered that this was a case of overstimulation of the vagus nerve, where the the overfed stomach demands too much blood, and leaves too little for the brain. It doesn’t last long, but it’s pretty frightening when it happens. This is the third time Dot has had it. In her life, that is. The most recent time was in the Last Wine Bar.
On Friday she had pretty much recovered and drove me to the Archant pensioners’ lunch after I’d dashed to the supermarket to slot in a £40 shop (thus obtaining an essential voucher) and dropped a Christmas pudding on someone’s foot. Luckily, being a northerner, he hardly felt it.
The pensioners’ lunch was the usual traditional affair, with the wine on offer dwindling to a trickle. Sat on a depleted subs’ table with Robin Limmer and Bruce Robinson on my left, and John Kitson and Terry Reeve on my right. Mr Kitson proved remarkably entertaining. Also present: Sue, Frances, Julie… Sadly absent: Brian Caldecott, attending the N&N for some kind of operation. Shock of the day: among 16 pensioners reported dead in the past year was stone hand Martin Rodwell, who I had met not long ago at Blakeney and who had looked really well. Apparently he got cancer in his liver and pancreas, and died within 11 weeks of the diagnosis. A sobering thought. He was a nice bloke. Always got on well with him.
On Saturday, Norwich City scored three goals in six minutes while I was taking my brother Phil home from a walking visit. He finds it hard to walk more than one way now, which is rather sad. Norwich City beat Huddersfield 5-0. Later I drove Dot up to the Methodist Church on Chapelfield, braving the homegoing football drivers, so that she could rehearse for her evening concert there.
I left the car in the (free) car park and walked home, buying a hook for the bathroom on the way; cooked some food (I had earlier cooked some for Dot); fixed the hook on the bathroom door; and then walked back, arriving with about ten minutes to spare. (The hook is to ensure privacy for Naomi, who is staying with us tonight and tomorrow night; the main lock is defective.)
At the concert I sat with Maryta and Paul, having greeted Neville Thrower, whose wife Mary was on clarinet. It was a good concert, with Dot on second violin looking very good. Tea and biscuits at the interval, and a chat with the oboeist, who is Peter Bussey’s sister. All these CNS connections… Speaking of which, we have been invited to Adrian O’dell’s 70th next May. We know all the top people. After the concert Dot and I went back to the Hendersons’ for wine, tea, cheese and biscuits. Very nice.
This morning had a Communion led by Eleanor, with Howard preaching on the Magnificat. Dot has been dealing with cards and presents this afternoon. I have completed my allocation, but there is still much to do. Like a leaflet for the Midnight Communion, for instance.
