25th February 2013

Early February brought a few days of snow before the temperature shot up into double figures, allowing me to play at being “Willow Bank Destroyer.” Armed with Suraj’s pressure washer, a fearsome contraption capable of stripping paint off doors (I tested that quite by accident), I spent three solid days blasting moss, lichen, and bird muck from every available surface. Most of it landed on me. Eventually, I learned that waterproofs and glasses not only improved visibility but also lifted Sue’s spirits: apparently, seeing me stumble around half-blinded and dripping green slime was “a bit depressing.”

When all was done, I was almost sorry to finish; the place sparkled like new. Sadly, the washer is so powerful that it’s created a new spring project: filling in the craters it carved out of the concrete. A cement mixer may be required, unless I can persuade the parish council to register the drive as a geological feature.

On one of the milder days, Sue and I joined Charlotte and the boys at Insectworld. We missed the morning showing of Bugs, but made up for it with a romp in the village playground. Hard to say who had more fun, the children or the so-called adults. The insect session itself was excellent, with the boys enthralled as they held various creepy-crawlies. Having sampled a few of their edible cousins in the Far East, I was tempted to nibble one, but opted instead for a café snack afterwards. Less crunchy.

That weekend, Sarah stayed in Sheffield, catching up on essays ahead of term, but she joined us midweek for Edna’s funeral. Charlotte collected Nan at dawn, and everyone piled into my Fiesta. Despite desperate calls from the womenfolk for a loo stop, I pressed on, only narrowly avoiding disaster before reaching the crematorium toilets. I hadn’t seen Sue and Charlotte move that fast in years.

The service was exactly as Edna had requested: no fuss, no speeches, and over in ten minutes. Quite a contrast to Alf’s funeral, when the snow was so bad the coffin had to be hauled up the hill on a sledge like some macabre Winter Olympics event. Afterwards, we thawed out with coffee and Yorkshire scones at the Beauchief Hotel before heading home.

The following day, we collected two sacks of Edna’s photographs from her care home, stopped by Sarah’s digs for another coffee, checked on the house in Thurcroft, and finally dropped in on Nicky’s newborn. In true Yorkshire fashion, her eldest son, who had never clapped eyes on us, cheerfully let us in. After Charlotte had her baby cuddle and Nan her umpteenth coffee, we went for a carvery before the long drive home with Sarah at the wheel, at a speed which would have impressed the Red Arrows.

Later in the week, I joined John Lee for what he promised would be a walk. It turned into a 17.75-mile route march, resulting in blisters, sore legs, and mutual denial of pain. Rugby men don’t complain: it’s acceptable to lose your shorts in front of 80,000 at Twickenham, but not to limp off with an ear dangling.

Sunday brought a gentler outing, snowdrop walks at Kelmarsh Hall with Charlotte and the boys. Nan would have loved it, but boggy ground and long routes ruled her out. The following weekend’s Billesdon council walk was a far calmer five miles, followed by pub grub and a spot of geocaching with Sarah. Two caches were found, but one stubbornly eluded us. The Magellan GPS I’d bought her will earn its keep yet.

Rugby still loomed large. After England beat France in the Six Nations at The Angel, I went to see the Tigers play Saracens with old teammates. We reminisced about my supposed playing habit of standing offside (an optical illusion, I insist). Sadly, the Tigers, fielding a depleted squad, lost on a frozen, snowy pitch.

Jamie, meanwhile, has been at Santa Pod filming drag races and, to everyone’s surprise, cooked an excellent meal for Sue and me: gammon steaks with vegetables and white sauce. It was delicious, and more importantly, it didn’t poison us. A second invitation is eagerly awaited.

Suraj and I went to see Cloud Atlas, a mind-bending epic with Tom Hanks and Halle Berry. I loved it, though anyone averse to sci-fi or reincarnation might prefer a quiet nap.

Sarah returned to Sheffield via Nottingham to see Lee, while I took Nan to the doctor’s. She’s a little anaemic, so she now has iron tablets and will start B12 injections after our holiday. Speaking of which, with snow threatening again, Sue and I are counting down the days until we can swap slush for sunshine in Rio, followed by a cruise back across the Atlantic.

Bring on Copacabana.