15th February 2012

Some rugby friends and I recently joined Frank Johnson in Manchester to celebrate his upcoming wedding (stag do). Having played, coached, toured, and socialised with Frank for over a decade (despite him hailing from Lancashire), I couldn’t possibly refuse his invitation, especially when Jeremy and Robin swore blind they’d only go if I did.

We checked into the Ibis Hotel in central Manchester and met up with his assorted relatives and friends, a total of twelve of us. We rolled into the great metropolis on Friday afternoon and rolled back out on Sunday afternoon, feeling somewhat older and certainly wearier.

The highlight for me was being guests of the President at Sedgley Park Rugby Club when they took on the London side, Blackheath. A fine pre-match dinner was followed by an after-dinner speech that was both hilarious and, shall we say, of its time in political correctness. Sadly, the home team lost in the dying seconds to a well-worked try by Blackheath.

Another unexpected treat was enjoying a few spins on the Manchester Eye, taking in the panoramic views. Nightclubs and thumping bars were also on the menu, still an essential part of a stag weekend, though my enthusiasm for them has cooled over the years.

Sunday brought the Mancunian Chinese New Year parade, drums, dragons, and steaming food stalls doing a roaring trade in the bitter cold. The smell of hot noodles won out over the rest of the entertainment, which looked a little underused, possibly because no one wants to watch a juggler when it’s minus something-or-other.

Earlier in the month, on 1st February, both our cars went for their MOTs. I’d been convinced mine would fail due to an ominous clunking noise, but in an uncharacteristic show of mechanical mercy, both passed.

Sarah has joined the Sheffield scuba diving club, conveniently located a short stroll from her flat at Ponds Forge. She’s now fully immersed, literally, in club activities. Jamie has a new job he enjoys, though he’s less than thrilled with the Sunday shifts and Friday off-days. Still, a permanent role is not to be sniffed at.

We’ve been playing plenty of golf together. Our last game ended in an excellent value lunch at the club: two hefty ham slices, two eggs, a small mountain of chips, and a token side salad for £3.45. Frankly, I couldn’t cook it at home for that. We also manage to find more balls than we lose, which is both economical and satisfying.

Jamie’s car briefly gave up the ghost last week en route to work. Sue phoned me mid-cycle to request rescue services, then phoned back to cancel when the car inexplicably roared back to life. The extra speedy pedalling did me good, but my thighs have since filed a complaint.

The weather has turned Arctic. On one snowy bike ride,  passing through Waterloo Lakes Caravan Park and fishing venue, I came across a miserable-looking individual stationed by a portable loo. As he announced it had been –17°F at 3:30 am, his wife emerged from the toilet to report that the water had frozen solid and couldn’t be used. His expression suggested that this was the final straw. I wished them luck and cycled on.

Thoughtfully, in preparation for a possible hard winter, Sue had bought a sledge and I a snow shovel. When the snow arrived, we promptly gave the sledge to the Rothwells, while I put the shovel to work clearing a path to the main road.

On the day of the snowfall, I picked Sarah up from the University of Sheffield just as the flakes started falling. Just half an hour after arriving home, Charlotte and the children turned up to greet her and was quickly followed by Jamie. True to Palmer habit, the snow caused instant excitement, leading to snowball fights and angel-making. After a brief thaw indoors for hot drinks and to add gloves and hats, they returned outside for round two. Concerned about worsening conditions, we persuaded Charlotte to set off home before dark.

Sue and I enjoyed a recent Council walk to Gumley so much that I organised one of my own, conveniently timed to finish at the pub in time for the England vs. Scotland game. Jim Hankers, Jim Crawfrod, Sean, and I set off early on Saturday morning on a circular route, encountering a frozen canal that looked deceptively solid. I offered a £1 wager for anyone brave, or foolish, enough to walk across. Mr Hankers was game, but sense prevailed and I managed to grab his arm before he became part of a rescue service’s training exercise.

At 1 pm, we met our wives at the Red Lion pub for an excellent meal, before saying goodbye to the ladies and reconvening at the Angel to watch England scrape a win against Scotland. There’s already talk of a repeat outing.

I spent a few days in Thurcroft helping Nan untangle her finances, which had become too much for her. Sadly, there’s no shortage of people willing to take advantage of the elderly and through telephone cold calls, she had been persuaded to take out several standing orders for insurance policies to cover her TV and Sky system. After meetings with banks, phone calls to companies and several letters, the financial order was eventually restored. I’m now considering persuading her to move to Harborough for my peace of mind.