The scaffolding has departed, the roof seems secure, and a cheque for over £2000 will shortly be winging its way to the builder. So that’s all right. Meanwhile, David is in Canada for Thanksgiving, and I have written three more Iona poems in the hope of getting a book together and keeping Joy happy: she wants me to publish a book of photographs and poems.
On Wednesday I went to see the doctor, who seemed fairly happy with me and in a bit of a hurry for a training session. He is going to book me in for an ultrasound check on my upper stomach/large bowel, but he says my other symptoms (virtually none) make it unlikely that it’s anything too serious. This is not as reassuring as he might have intended it to be.
I left my glasses behind, which he didn’t notice as he flew out of the room, but when I got home, I realised what I’d done. I rang the surgery, to be told it was closed for training. I drove back anyway and found it was indeed closed, which is a rare example of joined-up thinking at Thorpewood. So I had to do without my glasses until the following morning, when I picked them up from reception.
Later that day, we had our hair cut after a postponement from last week. This is normal – even more normal that postponing a meeting with the Coomes.
Yesterday was the much-heralded Open Day at Paston Church, organised largely by the PCC but partly by the Paston Heritage Society. Dot and I drove out, enjoyed an organ recital, and I took Penny back to North Walsham so that Rob could continue in role as John Paston in a funny hat. On my return there was a talk on medieval wall paintings, which was more interesting than it sounds. Peter was there showing an updated version of the DVD in which Rob appears with animation of a reconstruction of Paston Hall. Impressive, actually. Lucy was there for quite a while, feeling considerably better than of late. Refreshments were superb as usual, despite Brigette being called away because her no-longer-secret barn had flooded.
We called in on Jessie on the way back, adding to our refreshment, and after our return tho Norwich (through a considerable thunderstorm) we got a call from the Hendersons halfway through our mussels. As a result recalled round for champagne and a view (through the darkness) of the new sculpture, which was nicely placed and looking good. We took some cakes, which turned out to be mouldy. Ah well.
Today was Nicholas’ last communion at St Augustine’s, which attracted a motley crew of more than 30 people, including Vicky and Amy and others less distinguished. All very jolly, with excellent cake from Anna and apparently some wine, though this did not reach me. I had a nice cup of tea, though.