Tag Archives: rivers

Colonoscopy, gas and all that jazz

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At the King's Head, Hoveton, for supper: Fred, Sue, Ivan, Joyce, Marjorie, Pat

Congratulations to the highways authorities, who have timed road works on Carrow Bridge to coincide with the last weekend of the summer holidays, when all those parents and children are buying back-to-school stuff and the city is crammed. I have just taken our hairdresser Linda up to Ber Street so that she can leave her haircutting bag at her partner’s workplace: her own car is in for an MOT test. On the way back I encountered a long queue of lost cars up Rouen Road, which I ruthlessly jumped. Or slipped into, to be more accurate.

Last night I travelled to Lowestoft, accompanied by Dot after a last-minute decision, for the Waveney and Blyth Arts event. I was supposed to arrive at 6.30 for a run-through, but unsurprisingly this never happened, so we were hanging around for 45 minutes. As much of this was spent chatting to Ian Fosten, it wasn’t a hardship. The event featured poets of a rather higher calibre than some that have appeared at the Seagull, though not all of them were much of a judge of how long ten minutes is. I thought my poems (with accompanying photographs projected on screen) went quite well, though I felt some were a little obscure. Most of the poets relied heavily on evocative description without being particularly poetic in a use-of-words way, the one exception being Nina Roffey from Beccles.

Dot had been feeling rather fragile following her colonoscopy. The first night was bad: she was in a lot of pain, and I was worried that we might have to call the hospital. But it eased off eventually – it was almost certainly caused by the gas that they pump into you during the procedure and don’t bother to pump out again. One day this will be regarded as barbaric. The procedure itself was also painful, but I was out of earshot, taking a walk, having been assured that I wouldn’t be needed.

The next day (Thursday) she was very tired and still had occasional quite bad pain, but she summoned up the will to go to Wroxham on the Jazz Cruise organised by Fred and Sue for the ruby wedding celebration. I was pretty worried how she would last, but it turned out all right, with only a couple of alarms. We had a nice carvery meal in the King’s Head before leaving on the cruise at 7.30pm, sailing down past Horning after taking in Wroxham and Salhouse Broads. It was a lovely evening, though of course it turned quite chilly, and we ended up snug in the cabin after starting on deck. Also present, Marjorie and Pat; Joyce and Ivan. Plus, unexpectedly, Dot’s “friend” from the Bluebell in North Walsham, with whole we had a chat. The jazz band was pretty good too.

This morning we had to be up and about early for our haircut, because Linda was dropped off by Michael on his way to work. In an hour or so we will be at Wymondham for a barbecue at Matt’s house – a kind of farewell before he leaves for Palestine. Weather is very good at the moment.

 

Bit of brightness

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The River Blyth at Blyford Bridge

The pitch and putt went pretty well. Although I didn’t play as well as I did last time, I did improve my score slightly. There were quite a lot of people on the course, but we were lucky in that a group of six-plus who paid ahead of us let us go first. I think four should be a maximum really, but then I’m pretty right-wing about that sort of thing. Anne had real problems actually hitting the ball, except when she was on the green, when she was very good. I don’t know who won, because significantly, we didn’t compare scorecards at the end. Instead we went for a meal at Prezzo’s.

Yesterday I took advantage of a bit of brightness in the morning to drive to Southwold to get some photos for my rivers project. Stopped at Blyford Bridge and then went on to Southwold Harbour. Again, plenty of people about, but I did manage to get a couple of decent shots. Dot didn’t come, because she was already feeling light-headed as the diet in preparation for her colonoscopy tonight kicked in. Today she is feeling pretty low because of the rather violent reaction to the medication she has to take, which means she has to be within about six inches of a toilet at all times. This is not easy to arrange. She has finished eating now. The procedure is at 7pm.

I’ve finished my river poems and sent the pictures to Ian, but no response yet. I now need to turn my attention to the Paston poems and to Blofield. Lucy is in hospital again and feeling the strain.

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.