Sunday 2.

 

Above is snapshot of Ann outside scrabble club. We climbed in to the car and motored up to Norwich to have dinner with friends Cath and Derek. Mutual friends Diana and Terry, also from Suffolk, were there when we arrived. The three couples meet up regularly. We have a good deal in common, and always pick up the threads very easily. Cath is a very good cook. We had the usual at this time of year- cold meats, a variety of salads, pickles, and new potatoes. This was followed by puddings - Cath had made a quite delicious apple and nut confection, which, because of the nuts, my chief medical adviser decided against on my behalf - I know it was delicious, though, because she allowed me a taste of hers, so I had a portion of a quite superb lemon cheesecake (also made by the fair Cath) with cream. There was also a glorious looking fresh fruit salad, to which nobody really did justice, and the cheeseboard met with the same fate. Derek said he didn't mind this at all because it meant that he was going to eat well for the next few days. Derek had opened a very nice Cabernet Sauvignon to go with the meal, but as, for various reasons, he and I were the only ones drinking it, we cleared the bottle between us. Derek loves (and writes) poetry. He says he can never remember any poetry, but he knows I usually can, especially when in my cups, so he tries to remember titles and subject matter, and encourages me to hold forth. I oblige, normally until Ann decides that everyone has had enough, and delicately hints at their poetic repletion by hoofing me one under the table. Last night I confined meself to giving them the middle verse of Sir Henry Newbolt's Vitae Lampada, a few chunks of Gunga Dinn, and a morsel of Matthew Prior. Derek wanted more, but I think Ann was probably right. It was, as far as I can remember, a lovely evening, and we got home about midnight. Ann, you'll be relieved to hear, drove.