14th October 2018

Since my last blog, the nights have started to cool, and the days are no longer quite as pleasant; winter is on its way. I must stop checking the weather conditions of friends in Italy, Cyprus, and Canada; it’s only going to get increasingly depressing from now on. It doesn’t help that Sue’s sister and her husband are off harassing the wildlife in South Africa for the next few months, posting their adventures regularly on Facebook!

On a less dispiriting note, on 24th September, Mia, Peter, and I walked from Harborough to Welford for lunch at The Wharf. It was a glorious, sunny day, perfect for a long ramble through the Leicestershire countryside. Our journey was not without incident. After encountering a farmer and chatting at length about country matters, the farmer knew Peter and seemed glad of a break from his morning’s hedge-cutting duties. Afterwards, we entered a small wood teeming with game birds in carefully maintained pens. Unfortunately for Mia, these enclosures were protected by a low electrified fence to deter foxes.

We had paused while I explained to Peter that the wood contained the remains of an ancient Motte and Bailey castle (only the earthworks being visible today), strategically located near the River Welland and River Avon to guard traffic travelling between these waterways. Suddenly, we heard a terrific yelp and saw poor Mia dashing madly in circles, clearly terrified. She had sniffed the electrified wire with a predictably shocking result. She soon recovered, but for the rest of the day, she regarded all fences with extreme caution. Thankfully, there seems to be no lasting damage to her olfactory abilities; she can still detect the unwrapping of any food item from several hundred metres away!

The rest of our journey was pleasant and uneventful, suitably rounded off with a very large and satisfying lunch. Sue picked us up and drove us back to Harborough. Peter was particularly grateful, as with many who have played the noble game of rugby and developed knee and other joint problems in later life, he found mobility a struggle after resting for a while over lunch. Even getting in and out of Sue’s Suzuki proved difficult and painful.

That week, I had my flu jab, a painless, two-minute procedure that left me feeling under the weather the following morning, with a headache and a general sense of impending illness. Thankfully, by the afternoon, I was back to my usual self. Sue was due for her jab later that day, after taking Charlotte to a hospital appointment, but on arrival at the clinic, she was informed that she didn’t qualify (not old enough). A quick phone call to her GP got her back on the list, but she now has to wait for the next flu vaccination clinic, which has yet to be scheduled.

We saw September out without further incidents, aside from booking a trip for the new year. Fingers crossed that, unlike last year’s cruise, we won’t have to cancel and will finally get to experience the delights of Amsterdam, the Azores, Barbados, Aruba, Panama, Guatemala, Mexico, Tahiti, Bora Bora, New Zealand, and Australia.

October is proving to be a time of change for the Palmer family. Jamie and Ashton are well on their way to exchanging contracts and moving from Harborough to Desborough. There is a slight concern that recent incidents in Jamie’s apartment block might deter potential buyers. A few months ago, a resident in a ground-floor flat was involved in a stabbing (drug-related), and just this week, the same flat was boarded up for three months after being found to be a cannabis farm. Hopefully, the sale will go ahead, and he will be moving out sometime in November.

Sarah and Lee also appear to have decided that a move is on the cards. They’ve put their house on the market and placed an offer on a property in Newbold Verdon. Moving house isn’t their only goal at the moment; they’ve been tracking their daily walking distances using an App and, after successfully reaching 50 miles in September, are now aiming for 75 miles in October.

Charlotte isn’t planning a house move, but she is certainly moving about much better now. She’s reducing her dependency on painkillers, and walking, sitting, and general movement are becoming easier. She’s receiving physiotherapy, following her recommended exercise routines, and is taking great care not to overstrain herself.

Sue and I are still picking up Ellis from school, while Suraj handles the morning run. Lucas is really enjoying his new school and manages his journeys independently, taking the bus there and back. This week, Ellis moved up from Beavers to Cubs, and it won’t be long before he joins Lucas in the Scouts. Sue has spent the last couple of days sewing all his Beaver badges onto his Cub blanket; thankfully, my sewing skills aren’t up to the job, so I’ve been excused from that particular task!

Before one of last week’s school runs, I finally re-laid the very wobbly path in Charlotte’s back garden, which leads to the treehouse via the chicken run. I had been meaning to do it over the summer, but the ground, being solid clay, had been rock-hard due to the lack of rain. It would have been impossible to level without the help of a JCB.

I’ve also been helping Jamie with the wording for a new initiative on his company’s website, Binary Destroyer and FX Learning. The growth of his business has been quite spectacular, and the comments and reviews are overwhelmingly positive. Though I don’t pretend to understand binary trading, I can tell that he’s highly successful in what he has developed. It’s remarkable how many people credit his company with changing their lives for the better. I’m constantly amazed at the thought, time, and effort he puts into his business, on top of holding down his regular job. His drive is truly admirable.

On the 5th of this month, Sue and I went to see The Moody Blues in concert. Time has inevitably taken its toll on the original members, but their music remains timeless and classic, so we expected a great night, and we weren’t disappointed. However, we were in for a surprise. One of my former pupils, Bethany Tempest, was the band’s flautist, and her very proud parents, along with other family members, were seated directly behind us. Now, how’s that for a coincidence?

Her playing was superb, particularly on Nights in White Satin, one of my all-time favourite tracks. During the interval, I caught up with her father, Kim, who told me that the band he played in, Doctor Marshall’s Remedy, were reforming at the end of the month. The band, originally formed years ago by parents at Farndon Fields Primary, is making a comeback, and I’ll definitely be going along to watch them and reconnect with old friends.

The following day, I went with Suraj and a group of rugby mates to Twickenham to watch the Tigers play the Saints. Suraj was a late replacement for one of my friends, who had caught a stomach bug and had to give up his ticket. Unfortunately, the game was as dire as the weather.

We caught the 7:26 am train from Harborough and didn’t get back until 10:45 pm; it rained all day! However, despite the miserable conditions, we had a great time. We started with a full English breakfast at a restaurant near St Pancras station, followed by an interesting visit to the London Canal Museum, located just behind King’s Cross.

The museum is housed in a building that once stored ice for London’s rich and famous, transported all the way from Norway. Today, it showcases canal history, memorabilia, and fascinating details about the building itself. At just £4 for entry, it was an absolute bargain for a London museum!

After catching the Tube and then the overground to Twickenham, we settled ourselves next to an open fire in The White Swan, a charming pub on the banks of the River Thames. It’s a gorgeous spot for a pre-match drink on a warm and sunny Autumn day, and an equally great refuge on a cold, wet one.

With our thirsts satisfied, we moved on to a fantastic little eatery we had discovered on our last visit. We indulged in fabulous pies served with huge mounds of mashed potato, peas, and lashings of thick gravy, all washed down with a fine Malbec and some South African lagers.

A very wet walk to the ground meant we arrived late to the match. By the time we took our seats, the Tigers were already 3-0 up and, though they eventually won, it wasn’t a deserved victory. It was the first match I’ve attended where the supporters of both teams seemed more interested in chatting to each other than watching the dismal spectacle on the pitch. The quality of rugby was poor, and the conditions weren’t entirely to blame.

After the match, we returned to the warmth of The White Swan, making a brief stop at the very crowded William Webb Ellis pub along the way. Much later, our journey back to Harborough was interrupted by further refreshments at Murphy’s Irish Bar near St Pancras station. Suraj stayed the night at Willow Bank before heading home to his family the following morning.

The following Tuesday, I had one of my more disheartening morning bike rides. As I was (rather appropriately) passing Great Bowden Cemetery, a rugby friend, who happens to be a stonemason, stopped me. He was working on a job there and broke the news that a fellow former rugby player, Robin Garfield, had passed away the previous day from a heart attack. He was just 53. Only a month or so ago, he had fixed an aerial problem for me, and he had collapsed while on a similar job. I suddenly recalled seeing the air ambulance land somewhere in Harborough while I was at my allotment the previous day; it had been for Robin.

We talked at length about how shocking it was before my friend casually dropped into the conversation that he had been diagnosed with an incurable blood condition and had been given four years to live. It was an awkward moment to respond to, made even more so when he went on to explain that he was determined to live his remaining years to the fullest. To that end, he had bought a camper van, left his wife, found another woman, and now spends all his free time walking the country with her. Hmmm. I must say, I now value those bike rides where the only shocks I encounter are startled muntjacs or rabbits, and perhaps the occasional unexpected dive over the handlebars into a ditch!

I attended Robin’s funeral at St Dionysius in the centre of town that Friday. The church was packed with familiar faces, a testament to how well-loved he was. Over the years, he had worn many hats: fireman, rugby player, actor in the local theatre, pallbearer for one of the town’s funeral directors, and most recently, the owner of his own aerial business. He had a wicked sense of humour, yet balanced it with a studious and sensible outlook on life. He will be missed by many.

On a lighter note, I’ve been busy preparing this year’s wine for bottling. Thanks to the intense heat of May and June, the grapes had the highest sugar content I’ve ever achieved, though a change in my pruning regime meant the overall quantity was lower than in previous years. This time, I’ve decided to blend the red and white before bottling. At the moment, I’m waiting for the lees to settle before adjusting the flavour. With a bit of luck, this year’s vintage will be an exceptional one!

Breaking news: Sadly, Jamie’s buyer has pulled out of purchasing his apartment, which has jeopardised his and Ashton’s plans to buy a property in Rothwell. At present, the apartment is back on the market, and they are considering their options. Tomorrow, they set off for a glamping holiday in Scotland until Sunday. Hopefully, some time away will help them reflect, but it’s an unwelcome dampener on what should be a restful break.

In the meantime, Sue and I have taken charge of Ashton’s guinea pigs, and Maddie the rabbit is back with us, hopefully without a repeat of her previous bout of diarrhoea!

On a more positive note, Sarah and Lee’s offer has been accepted on a house in Newbold Verdon. They have also accepted a buyer for their current home, so hopefully, everything will progress smoothly. Sue and I are meeting them tonight to view their hopefully new home.

Another Eventful Bike Ride: Today’s morning bike ride took an unexpected turn. I was on the return leg, cycling along a countryside stretch of the Grand Union Canal just past Great Bowden, when I came across four dogs milling around in a tight little circle near the water’s edge. I hadn’t seen another soul on the path, so I expected to find their owner just ahead. But after riding another 100 metres, there was no sign of anyone.

Concerned that perhaps their owner had fallen into the canal, hence the dogs’ odd behaviour, I turned back to check. Peering into the water, I saw nothing, but two of the dogs appeared stuck together and were clearly in distress. The other two circled them anxiously. Siamese dogs? I wondered.

All four were friendly and seemed relieved at my presence, but the two attached at the rear were perilously close to the canal’s edge and looked exhausted. They let me try to separate them, but no matter how hard I heaved, they wouldn’t budge. After several unsuccessful attempts, I gave up and called the RSPCA, which turned out to be a complete waste of time. After navigating an infuriating menu system, the automated voice thanked me kindly and hung up. I got the distinct impression they don’t deal with dogs in distress.

Next, I rang the council and got through to the local dog warden. He listened sympathetically before gently informing me that the dogs were most likely copulating and that it wasn’t unheard of for them to become locked together.

Now slightly embarrassed, I explained that they were not only exhausted but dangerously close to the water’s edge. At that very moment, splash!, they fell in!

Even submerged in the dark, murky canal water, they remained attached. Both were completely under, with only the leg of the smaller dog visible. I dropped my mobile and stepped into the canal, grabbing the leg and hauling the poor, drowning mutt, still firmly attached to his larger mate, onto the bank.

They looked rather grateful. So did their two yapping chums. But they weren’t much help in locating my phone, which had landed in a patch of nettles. Fortunately, I managed to retrieve it and was pleased to find that the dog warden was still on the line, equally concerned that I  hadn’t drowned. He promised to come and sort things out.

Turning back to the dogs, I reassured them that help was on the way and that they might be going for a little ride in a van. And just then, as if on cue, the two inseparables separated.

I watched, bemused, as all four simply trotted off down the towpath as if nothing had happened. Shaking my head, I called the council again to cancel my order for a dog warden and crowbar.

A little further along the canal, I met a dog walker who recognised them and explained that they belonged to the gypsy site further down. That made sense.

It was an experience that will no doubt have friends chuckling over a pint in the coming weeks, but those dogs knew I was trying to help. They weren’t protective or aggressive and even let me hurt them in my efforts to separate them. I genuinely believe they would have drowned if I hadn’t been there.

A Reminiscence: One of the most enjoyable aspects of teaching was taking part in the annual residential trips. They created such happy memories and, without a doubt, some of the best learning experiences for both young and old.

One particular memory involves a rather unfortunate incident with a fellow group leader, Roger Dunton. Roger wasn’t just a group leader; he was also a local councillor, a school governor, a part-time fireman (alongside Robin Garfield), and a good friend of our family.

We were on a trip to North Yorkshire with a large group of children and four group leaders. That day, we were visiting Robin Hood’s Bay, a charming little fishing village. It was a glorious, warm, sunny day. After separate history tours of the village’s steep, winding streets, we had just returned from the beach, where we’d been fossil-hunting along the Jurassic Coast.

By then, everyone was spread around the harbour area in front of The Bay Hotel, clipboards on laps, sketching the surrounding buildings and boats. It was the perfect moment to pause, recover from the heat, and enjoy a bit of quiet.

I had settled myself on the doorstep of a small cottage, basking in the warmth, and decided to capture the scene on video. The children were happily absorbed in their drawing, and I was enjoying the gentle chatter, the sounds of the harbour, before I would gather them all together for one last history lesson of the day.

This was going to be an explanation of smuggling, highlighting its significance in the area’s history. I had planned to finish by leading those brave enough into the hidden tunnels that branched off from the small stream emerging from the wall before them. Roger, having been on previous trips, knew what I had in mind and, unbeknownst to me, had prepared an exciting true story about the village smugglers being caught by the Excise men, culminating in a murder.

As I panned the scene with the video camera, I spotted Roger marching into the centre of the landing, shouting and gesturing for the children to gather around closely as he had a story to tell. Bemused by his actions, I thought it would make for a good video opportunity, so I stayed where I was and filmed. The scene was perfect: a stunning harbourside backdrop, well-behaved children, what’s not to like? As he hushed the children into silence, he began to explain that he had an exciting tale to share. A small group of Japanese tourists (who had joined our group the day before at Scarborough Castle and listened to my history talk about the fortress) also gathered on the periphery of the children.

Then a series of unfortunate events unfolded. Earlier, before the children had begun to draw their pictures, they had taken the opportunity to finish the remains of their packed lunches, which had attracted a large number of gulls. Much of the leftover food had been tossed into the air for the gulls to snatch mid-flight, and now the seabirds were keeping a keen eye on every movement of our group from their perches on the surrounding chimney pots and rooftops. To begin his story, Roger gestured towards the buildings around him. Several gulls misinterpreted this as a signal for more food and dove towards the group. Disappointed to find none, at least one of the birds discharged its ballast as it wheeled back to the nearest roof. Gull droppings, for some reason, are white and rather sloppy, prone to splattering. One of these discharges landed squarely on Roger’s bald head, with the nearest children getting the benefit of the splatter. I have never seen a group of children and Japanese tourists move so fast, within the blink of an eye. Roger was the only one left standing on the landing while squealing children and tourists desperately sought cover from the potential aerial bombardment. I’m afraid it was rather unprofessional of me, but I couldn’t suppress my laughter, though the tears I shed gave me away.

We did see those Japanese tourists again later in the week, but they didn’t risk joining our group for a free talk again. As for Roger, he never did tell his exciting story, not even to me.