30th March 2009

Fresh from recovering from a pulled hamstring, I pulled a calf muscle in the very next match I refereed. Then, in the one after that, I twisted my knee. I was starting to wonder if my body’s warranty had expired. Thankfully, by the following Saturday, I made it through a full game without a single twinge! Naturally, it was also the coldest day of the season, complete with an ice storm that made my limbs feel entirely surplus to requirements. At one point, I was so numb I might have snapped both legs without noticing. Perhaps I should only ref in Arctic conditions from now on.

Sue and I went to a fancy dress party at the rugby club recently. I turned up as Elvis (the jumpsuit years), and Sue came as one of his many admirers. My earlier calf strain (courtesy of a rugby match in Stamford) meant I couldn’t strut my stuff on the dance floor, but I still gave an impassioned rendition of The Wonder of You while balancing on one leg with a mock guitar. I thought it was a showstopper. Others… were kind.

Sarah recently returned from a trip to Bruges with the ATS and the Harborough marching band. She came back buzzing, which confirmed she’d had a brilliant time. Unfortunately, she also returned hoarding a stash of dark Belgian chocolate, my favourite, and didn’t share a single square. Ironically, it probably played a leading role in her being sick later that night. Since coming back, she’s been under the weather but still soldiered on, even taking part in swimming galas. She’s now off to RAF Kinloss in Scotland and, fingers crossed, won’t devour an entire haggis solo this time. She’s been working hard to get all her coursework up to date so she can bunk off school with a clear conscience.

Sue’s health is still up and down; some days she seems perfectly fine, and others she’s floored by a persistent cough. When she’s feeling well, she’s glued to the computer, enthusiastically building her family tree with info gathered from a growing army of relatives. I think she’s secretly hoping to discover nobility or scandal (ideally both).

Jamie’s car exhaust developed a hole, so I patched it up temporarily, right where the oxygen sensor goes, which made it particularly awkward. I’ve arranged for a proper weld job via a mate. Meanwhile, the stereo saga continues. His previous system belonged to a friend, who wanted it back once Jamie upgraded his car. But when Jamie removed it, he forgot the security code, effectively turning it into a very fancy paperweight. So, naturally, he bought a flashy all-singing, all-dancing replacement, which also acts as a hands-free phone. It is, I must admit, rather clever. Sadly, he blew one of the speakers on Saturday and, surprise, surprise, can’t find the receipt to get it replaced.

He recently camped out with friends at the Santa Pod race track on what turned out to be a very chilly weekend. He had a great time and showed me all the video evidence on his phone. Last week, with his boss John on holiday, Jamie and co-worker Dan had the place to themselves and were finishing work by 2 pm each day. As the saying goes, when the cat’s away, the lads clock off early.

The family has been passing a bug around between Sue, Sarah and Jamie, but I’ve miraculously remained untouched. Long may it stay that way!

On one gloriously hot day last week, I finally completed a walk I’d been planning for some time: the disused railway line behind the house all the way to Husbands Bosworth. It was a beautiful (if occasionally tricky) route, and I rewarded myself with a steak and ale lunch at the pub. I got chatting to a chap at the bar who happened to play for Lutterworth RFC, the very team I’m refereeing this coming Saturday. I graciously accepted a pint on the understanding that it came with no strings attached.

My new bike continues to impress, especially how easy it is to take the wheels off. That came in handy after I picked up five punctures on a single 23-mile off-road ride. I’ve since invested in Kevlar inserts to ward off future attacks from rogue thorns. According to the bike shop owner, local farmers are to blame, flailing the hedgerows and scattering tyre-shredding debris everywhere. Good for their trade, less so for my tubes.

Earlier this week, I paid a visit to our neighbour to (politely) complain after one of their children lobbed clumps of soil into our garden, some even landed in the pool. The child’s mother is notoriously fierce, and justice was swift. Ironically, I’m scheduled to teach the very same child’s class next Thursday. I expect excellent behaviour.

From the Newark front:

1. Suraj sold Jamie a new laptop and is now awaiting payment with increasing interest.

2. Charlotte had a hospital appointment for a mysterious rash she picked up in the Maldives, the outcome currently unknown.

3. Lucas appears healthy and is now proudly potty-trained. (There may be a connection.)

4. Charlotte is planning a post-GCSE holiday with Sarah. I’ve offered to help with the planning and inevitably, the funding.

5. She’s also applied to do charity work with Mencap, very commendable.

As for Nan, she’s in fine form, happily watching a mix of sports and sprouting vegetables. The potatoes and onions I planted are growing nicely under her supervision. She still has her hair done weekly, and now she’s added manicures and is considering foot massages. I pointed out that I get my hair cut once every two months and I trim my own nails, but she remained unmoved. I fear I’m losing the battle for dignity to an 80-something fashion icon.