Over the weekend of 18 April, Jamie and Ruth travelled to London, where he hosted a party for his BD clients while also celebrating his birthday. They stayed at The Langham, London and marked the occasion with a meal at The Dorchester.

Around 20 of his clients attended the BD party, meeting at a restaurant before moving on to bars in Covent Garden.

Sarah and Lee enjoyed a child-free evening, with Alice and Archie having a sleepover at Lee’s parents’ house while they attended a concert in Mountsorrel featuring the music of Green Day and Foo Fighters.

Charlotte and her family opted for a rather more rustic pursuit, spreading five tonnes of topsoil across the garden. Fortunately, Lucas was home from university and able to get stuck in, while Ellis was, perhaps conveniently, away with the Air Cadets for the weekend. They have the prospect of a few more tonnes arriving next week to look forward to.

Late on Sunday, Charlotte took in a dog. Christine, one of her clients and also a friend, had been rushed to the hospital with breathing difficulties. She is severely disabled and requires oxygen regularly, but unfortunately, her oxygen levels had dropped to below 40%, and she had to be admitted. Kind as ever, Charlotte stepped in to help by looking after her dog while she remains in hospital.

Also on Sunday night, while Sue and I joined other cinema goers at Harborough Theatre to watch the feel-good film, Mother’s Pride, our local badgers and foxes appeared to have a party at the front of the house.

On the 20th, I drove to Empingham in Rutland for a short walk and lunch with John Lee. In 2012, he was unfortunately diagnosed with prostate cancer and, while undergoing 35 weeks of treatment, we met up each week for a chat and a ramble. He kindly suggested we meet again so that I could ask any questions about treatment while awaiting the results of my biopsy.

It was a lovely, sunny day, though a very chilly north-easterly wind ensured coats and hats were still required. The small village of Empingham is very pretty, and its houses are certainly expensive; however, during our half-hour ramble, we largely ignored their finer details, resisting the temptation to stop and admire the opulence on display.

Situated on the edge of the village, lunch at the Twisted Trout was disappointing. There was no pie on the menu, nor even fresh trout from nearby Rutland Water. Instead, we opted for an unexceptional house burger and a pint of Bass, a beer I had thought long since discontinued. The menu itself was rather uninspired, offering scampi and chips, a variety of burgers, and a ploughman’s lunch. Given the village’s seemingly affluent clientele, I was surprised that the restaurant soon filled up.

On the way home, John made a detour to Stamford to catch a glimpse of a pair of peregrine falcons that had taken up residence in the church tower. I then extended my own journey with a slow drive through the village of Preston. Many times I have passed the edge of this settlement, meaning to explore it, and today I finally did. It proved to be a stunning, picturesque, chocolate-box example of a medieval village, quite delightful, and certainly worth a future visit, perhaps following the published Preston Village Walk by the Rutland Local History & Record Society.

On the 22nd, Sue and I drove to Melton Mowbray to meet Jamie for lunch, part of his birthday present from his parents. It was another sunny, cloudless day, though the breeze was brisk and chilly. We arrived ten minutes before the Anne of Cleves public house opened at noon, so we sat chatting in the pleasant rear beer garden until the doors were unlocked.

The pub takes its name from the fourth wife of the notorious Henry VIII. Originally built in 1384 as a parsonage in Melton Mowbray, and known as the Manor of Lewes, it remained closely associated with the Church until the mid-16th century, serving as a chantry priest’s house.

In 1539, the property passed into Crown hands as Henry’s campaign against the Church intensified and the Dissolution of the Monasteries reached Melton. Thomas Cromwell was granted the house by the King in recognition of his role in reclaiming church lands, and he resided there briefly in the spring of 1540, shortly before meeting his gruesome end on Tower Hill.

In 1537, following the death of his third wife, Jane Seymour, Henry began the search for a fourth queen. Cromwell, then firmly in the King’s favour, proposed Anne of Cleves, and Henry agreed after seeing her portrait. According to contemporary accounts, when Anne arrived in England, Henry eagerly hastened to meet his prospective bride, only to be disappointed by both her appearance and her lukewarm response to him.

Although he proceeded with the marriage, Henry soon had second thoughts. Anne, with commendable pragmatism, agreed to a divorce, and the marriage was annulled. Blaming Cromwell for the ill-matched union, Henry had him imprisoned and stripped of his properties, including this house. After a brief visit from the King, it was granted to Anne as part of her divorce settlement.

By the time Jamie and Nala arrived, we were comfortably settled at our reserved table, sipping refreshments and continuing our conversation.

Jamie and I chose our usual steak and ale pie, while Sue opted for a mushroom burger with all the trimmings. Nala watched intently, her gaze fixed on each morsel as it left our plates; Jamie and Sue did not disappoint her.

With Jamie flying to Marmaris the following day, we parted after the meal, he to visit the gym and then pack before catching a Derren Brown show at the Leicester Curve. We moved on to explore the vast and impressive St Mary’s Church, situated next to our hostelry. The building is the largest parish church in the Leicester Diocese. Its pale limestone tower has dominated the town for centuries and dates mainly from the 13th to the 15th centuries, although the stonework in the lowest section, featuring Norman windows, dates from around 1170.

A couple of guides were keen to show us around, but Sue dismissed them with a brisk, “We haven’t long.” Disappointed, they settled for providing us with a pamphlet, which we consulted as we wandered through the various chapels. When we paused to examine one of the church’s fonts, they hurried over to demonstrate how its heavy, finely carved cover could be lifted with ease by means of a pair of suspended counterweights. Clearly pleased to have engaged our interest, they returned to their post by the entrance while we continued our visit.

Afterwards, we browsed the shops of Melton Mowbray, purchasing nothing before returning to Willow Bank.

As daytime temperatures began to rise across the UK, prompting the discarding of thermal wear and encouraging T-shirts and shorts (at least in the afternoons), the garden and allotment responded in kind, with potatoes, onions, carrots and beetroot all pushing through to greet the warming yellow globe in the sky. My collection of firewood for the winter months has reached a ridiculous level for the time of year. With the woodstore behind the garden shed already at bursting point, there are now four large builders’ sacks filled to the brim, standing on the gravelled area, methinks, a touch of overkill.

On Saturday (25th), we entertained Sarah and her family at Willow Bank. They had recently purchased a large four-person tent and wanted to practise putting it up. Their own lawn wasn’t quite large enough to accommodate its footprint, so the grandparents had a chance to play with their grandchildren while Sarah and Lee worked out the best way to erect their new holiday home. Unfortunately, after packing the tent away, it was discovered that Archie had left his drinking flask inside one of the sleeping compartments, so, following a visit to a very busy Welland Park, the tent had to be unpacked and repacked. A valuable lesson learnt: when you have children, check thoroughly before packing away.

The following day, the family kept busy by roofing over their trear patio with polycarbonate.

Over the weekend, all the soil was spread and raked in at Charlotte’s garden in Rothwell; turf was laid and edged with brickwork. It was an exhausting weekend, but the result was well worth the effort. I do wonder what other garden projects the family might have in mind.

Jamie and his friend Tommy seem to be having a wonderful time enjoying the Turkish sunshine, hiring scooters to get around and relaxing in the many resort bars.

On the 27th, Sue visited her friend at Kettering General Hospital. Unable to look after herself any longer because of her worsening dementia, a place now has to be found for her by Social Services, so it is unlikely she will be leaving the hospital for several weeks yet. Sue has been given a house key to fetch some fresh clothes for her and to check that the house is in order.

Having played rugby together for Market Harborough RUFC in the latter years of our playing days, on Tuesday night (28th) Jim, Sean, Paul, and I joined fellow club members at Leicester Tigers’ ground to watch “the lads” take on Oadby Wyggs in the County Cup Final. We began with a very pleasant pre-match meal at The Yews in Great Glen before heading on to the ground.

It proved a hotly contested match between contrasting styles: Oadby employing a bruising, forward-dominated approach, while Harborough countered with a fast, flowing game. Disappointingly, despite leading into the final minute, Harborough conceded a well-executed try, allowing Oadby to snatch the win. Nevertheless, it was an entertaining match and a good opportunity to catch up with old friends.

Recently promoted Air Cadet Sergeant Ellis Palmer-Shah was spotted carrying an ironing board and iron to a group meeting, where he was due to teach the newer recruits how to press their uniforms. Meanwhile, Joey celebrated his 16th birthday by getting to grips with his moped, a gift from his parents that should prove particularly useful when living in a small village.

Having only just returned from Marmaris, Jamie and Ruth were off again over the Bank Holiday weekend, jetting to Croatia for a few days. On the 1st of May, I met John Lee for a ramble starting at the Cross Keys in the picturesque village of King’s Cliffe. In Saxon times, Cliffe, also known as Clive, formed part of the Kingdom of Mercia, and there is mention of a battle fought here in AD 778. Following the Norman Conquest, King William transformed Clive into a royal manor, renaming it King’s Cliffe.

It was the hottest day of the year so far, and the route I had plotted on my GPS was sensibly reduced from a 5.9-mile, rather sweaty challenge to a more leisurely 3.5 miles. The countryside surrounding the village offers some particularly fine views of both the settlement and the Willow Brook, which flows out of Blatherwycke Lake. The hawthorn was in full blossom, making for a colourful and fragrant walk. Setting off from the pub car park at 10 am, we returned at 12.20 pm, perfect timing for a lunch of fish and chips, washed down with suitably refreshing drinks.

Rant: When a country is being exploited by its own leader, one might assume it to be a third-world dictatorship lacking the checks and balances that underpin a functioning democracy. Yet at present, Donald Trump is suing his own Internal Revenue Service for the princely sum of $20 billion over an alleged breach of information that occurred during his first term in office.

Not only is he the claimant in the case, but, as the current president, he is effectively also the defendant. By my calculation, $20 billion divided by 342 million equates to roughly $29 for every man, woman and child in the United States. Already an exceedingly wealthy man, this is hardly the action of a leader who appears concerned with the interests of the wider population.

Ironically, many thousands of citizens were also affected by the same data breach. Were such a claim to succeed, it could open the floodgates to further litigation, potentially placing a significant strain on the economy and, in all likelihood, leading to increased taxation.

Another blatant example of the man’s grift at the expense of his supporters was the harvesting of 600,000 customer deposits, each amounting to $100, for the Trump “T1 Phone”. Marketed as a patriotic, American-built alternative, it was never delivered, even after a year.

After a severe bout of cystitis over Christmas and New Year, I had a blood test to check whether the infection had cleared my system, only to discover that the sample returned a PSA score of 21 (with a normal level being around 6), which indicated either prostate cancer or an enlarged prostate. However, any urinary tract infection can affect the results of such a test, and I was therefore scheduled for a repeat six weeks later.

This too returned a score of 21, but frustratingly, the week before the test, I suffered another bout of cystitis while on a trip to Italy, triggered by food poisoning. Yet again, a further test was arranged for six weeks later, but in the meantime, as a precaution, I underwent a prostate biopsy.

On the 3rd of May, the result of my third blood test came back with a score of 19. I now await the outcome of the biopsy with trepidation.