Dilly seems to be busier now she’s on holiday than when she’s at work. She had appointments in Norwich and Beccles yesterday, so I was going to look after the children until 3pm. I had an appointment at ‘about’ 10.30 at the church, with someone coming to look at a picture in need of restoration. In addition, our new television was to be delivered at an unspecified time. Since I’d ordered it online, I’d not had a chance to discuss this, but I could look up the time bracket on the day. I hoped it would be the afternoon rather than the morning, which would take a layer of complication from my 10.30 meeting. I looked it up. 4.45 – 8.45 pm. This eliminated one complication but introduced another.
Anyway, that could be considered later. I left for the church with the children – they know it well as the parent and toddler club meets in the church rooms and they were quite happy. While we were waiting, they played and I dealt with the new Easter candle, which was considerably too big for its holder and I needed to take of a quarter of an inch or so all around the bottom three inches. This took ages, and when I went back to check on the children there was a dark patch in the front of Pugsley’s trousers. “You need the potty, Pugsley” I said, since it wasn’t a large stain. “No, I don’t need a wee,” said Pugsley innocently.
Fortunately, just then the Sage arrived so I asked him to stay while I went home and fetched clean clothes. When I got back, of course the picture restorer had turned up, with a colleague (which was useful as I was concerned about the logistics of managing this huge picture) and we had a useful discussion. I changed Pugsley’s clothes, he used the potty and we came home to sausages for lunch.
The tv hadn’t arrived by the time we left, so we put a note on the door asking the driver to knock next door so that Dilly could let him in.
When we got to Weeza’s house, Zerlina was in the bath. She was very pleased to see us and showed her new tooth, and how she cleans it with her new toothbrush. I cooked pizza while bedtime was happening, Phil arrived home early, not long after 6.30 and we’d finished dinner by 6.50. So, with a few minutes in hand, we chatted idly. Then I noticed it was nearly ten past seven. Great squawks of dismay and we belted out to the car, leaving Grandpa doing babysitting duty.
They only live about 3 or 4 miles from the city centre, but one-way streets and the like make it slow to get to. We discussed the quickest way in and the best place to park as I drove. Weeza was twitchy, I was calm. When things have gone wrong, no point in complaining, one needs to scheme how to make the best of things. The worst that would happen would be that Weeza, Phil and Ro would go in on time and that I (having taken extra time to park) would have to wait until allowed in. That wasn’t so bad. I wouldn’t want you to think it was life-or-death here.
As we turned off the roundabout to St Giles, we saw a sign saying the Forum (the ludicrously grandiloquently named public library) car park was full. “St Giles multi-storey then,” I decided. Weeza and Phil got out, taking their tickets and leaving mine and I drove in. I parked on the second floor, only slightly scraping the car in the process (it’s a bumper, c’est son métier), and got out. I checked the closing time of the car park as I went (it used to close when the shops did) and that was all right, so I started to stride off to the theatre.
It was maybe not the best decision to wear shoes with 3-inch heels. I considered taking them off and running, but remembered I can’t run. Really, I can’t. It isn’t a matter of pain or exhaustion, just incapability. It’s frustrating. I have always found walking short distances, such as from the house to the greenhouse, boring and run them, but now I can’t. So I walked at my best hobble past City Hall, past the forum, over Theatre Street, and there was Weeza waiting. Bless her, if I was going to miss a few minutes, so was she. We walked into the theatre and pressed the button for the lift at 7.30 exactly.
When we got to the first floor, we found there was another staircase (someone didn’t think out the redesign, it seems). It said our row, 1-20. Our seats were 22 and 23. I mentioned it. Weeza pffd and we went up. “You’ll have to go back down and up the next stairs” said the usherette, not unkindly. “Oh, but my mother has a bad hip and stairs are really difficult” (I looked brave and pained) “please could we got through, we’re only halfway along.” The woman relented and we apologised our way past 16 people. At the moment Weeza reached her seat and I passed the last person, the house lights went down. Weeza and Z had done it again.
Damn good evening.