2nd May 2011

For Lucas’s birthday, we bought him an electric car and kept it at Willow Bank, so he could whizz safely around the patio and garden without the risk of encountering heavy traffic on the M1. On Tuesday, I ferried it to Rothwell so he could use it there instead of waiting for the rare occasion he came to Harborough. While I was there, Charlotte roped me into wiring the control pad for the alarm system into the hallway.

It hasn’t rained in two months, so when I returned to Harborough, I gave my two thirsty allotments a much-needed drink.

On Wednesday, the hospital rang with an appointment for an ultrasound the very next day. This meant yet another enforced fast until after the examination, and my stomach complained loudly in protest. That afternoon, the beer barrels for the weekend festival arrived at the Club, and I spent most of it stacking twenty barrels in the bar store with Gary the Bar Steward.

Thursday’s trip to Glenfield for the scan was over almost as soon as it began. The doctor couldn’t see anything worrying and told me to see my GP in a week for the results. “Couldn’t see any issues” sounds promising… or ominous… depending on how you look at it. That evening, I stuck to tradition and played pool at the Catholic Club.

Friday was a marathon at the Club, setting up the thralls and the bar ready for the beer festival marquee. Jim and Craig pitched in. Meanwhile, a wedding reception was being prepared in the clubhouse, a swish affair with no expense spared.

Saturday was meant to be Harbie Hog Beer Festival Day, coinciding with the Club 7’s rugby tournament. Unfortunately, only two teams entered this year, so it was cancelled. Plan B came into effect: a touring side from Worthing played a morning match, then an inter-club game was scheduled for the afternoon.

The morning game happened (Jim and I ran the touchline), but by the afternoon, enthusiasm for rugby on a pitch baked solid by the sun had evaporated. To keep the crowd entertained (and the beer flowing), I organised a spur-of-the-moment “limited overs” cricket match between Worthing supporters and Harborough. The Worthing lot had changed into fancy dress after their rugby game, so the batting order included penguins, ducks, kings, and crocodiles. With twenty beers on tap, everyone entered fully into the spirit. I was reduced to tears of laughter at times, especially when a penguin went for a quick single, collided with his partner dressed as a frog, both clutching a pint in one hand and a bat in the other… without spilling a drop.

The finale came when Harborough’s club captain needed a six off the last ball to win a book of beer vouchers. He took a mighty swing, missed entirely, and was rewarded by the ball striking him squarely on his “personal middle wicket”. His slow, doubled-over walk from the pitch was met with merciless guffaws. Cricket is a cruel sport, especially when played by rugby players.

Two local bands played in the evening, and we didn’t stop serving until very late. Sunday’s serving began at 10 am. Sue was in bed with a migraine, so I popped home at 1 pm to find her looking delicate but improving. Charlotte was meant to be cooking lunch for her, but she too had woken up feeling unwell. Lunch was off. By 6 pm, the festival wound down, and we had an early night.

Monday morning’s radio brought the news that Osama Bin Laden had been assassinated in Pakistan. In celebration, I went to the allotment to inform the onions while watering them, the first drink they’d had in four very hot days. They seemed suitably relieved.

Later in the week, Nan returned from Wales to watch the Royal Wedding (Prince William) on her “big” TV. Sue and Sarah were glued to the screen all day, and I wasn’t allowed to speak when I ventured into the room. Fortunately, I was busy at the Club clearing up from the festival. Osama’s exit has disrupted the Royal honeymoon plans, pushing them later in the year. Can’t say I’m terribly concerned about either.

Last night, Sarah went to Rothwell for a girls’ night with Charlotte, wine and girly films, while Suraj and Lucas camped in the garden for a “boys’ night out”. It was warm but very windy. Today, Lee took Sarah out for a meal, and I got a call from Jamie to help unblock his shower. We succeeded, after which he headed to the cinema to see Fast & Furious 4.

One evening during the week, Sue, Sarah and I tackled the online student finance application. It was an exercise in pure frustration. The government website was riddled with bugs, contradictions, and endless disclaimers, as if it had been coded by a cost-cutting four-year-old. The site insisted on flagging “errors” in bold red, even when we’d entered the correct details. Eventually, after repeated rejections, it suggested I enter any number instead of “0”, which magically allowed us to continue. The result: I am now (apparently) the proud owner of 1p in offshore holdings, which somehow qualifies my daughter for finance.

It’s page after page of bureaucratic twaddle, clearly designed to deter first-time university families. I call it Conservative discrimination against the working class. Still, up yours, Cameron (and Clegg). We finished it.