Monday, February 26th
The Suffolk Punch, a working horse celebrated far beyond the boundaries of this county, did not confine their activities to farm work. Among other things, they used to pull carts laden with barrels of beer and deliver to pubs for the brewery where my father worked all his working life. One of those pubs was at the end of the road where I grew up. Today, leafing through some old books while I was tidying up what I like to call my library I came across a volume that had photographs of what might have been those very same horses, because they are hauling beer for the same brewery. They were simpler times, for sure. I do not know if they were better. I think nowadays the beer gets delivered to The Wheatsheaf on the internet.
Speaking of The Wheatsheaf, at lunchtime there today Major Edward “Teddy” Thomas had evidently started early and had had a few, and was holding forth with his ideas about how GASSE (“Go Away! Stay Somewhere Else!”) – the group the Parish Council formed to prevent the government putting illegal foreigners in our village hall – might move forward. His main idea was for uniforms, including a beret, and regular drills. It all sounded more than a bit worrying, to be honest, and we may have to keep an eye on the Major in future.
Wednesday, February 28th
The repairs to the village hall are finished! Some of the Parish Council met with Bob Merchant and his works foreman there this lunchtime to have a look around and, given that Bob and the Council have not been on the best of terms, the atmosphere was a little bit frosty – and not because of the weather! But the work seems to be of a good standard. Now we need to get the County Council in to give us the “all clear” to use the hall again for our community groups and events. John Garnham, the Parish Clerk, suggested we all go to The Wheatsheaf to have a pint and drink to a job well done, but Merchant said they had to go to another meeting and scooted off pretty sharpish after handing John an envelope which he said contained his invoice.
In the pub, John opened the envelope, and the reason for Merchant’s swift departure became clear. The bill was for much more than his quotation – almost two grand more – and the quotation figure was what had been approved and agreed to by the insurance company. I think I have heard John Garnham swear once or twice before today, but not often, and certainly never as colourfully. John used to work in insurance, and he is not at all sure the insurers will agree to pay this new amount. I have no idea, and intend to keep well out of it, and I’ve made a mental note to make sure everything was settled before I decide whether or not to run for the post of Parish Clerk when the election comes round. I don’t want to be taking any mess of that kind on, thank you very much. If ever I become Parish Clerk I just want to smile at people and be the village Father Christmas with children on my lap.
Thursday, February 29th
So today is a Leap Day, which as far as I am concerned is not a real day and, because my wife is not here, means I do not have to do anything except slob around in my pyjamas and ignore any- and everything outside these four walls. Which is exactly what I did. I did not answer my mobile when it told me John Garnham was calling (I can tell him I was asleep, or feeling poorly). I would not mind if every day was like this. I was happily in my own little world, then Kristina at The Wheatsheaf phoned (Yes, I gave her my number; I had had a few drinks that day). She was calling to remind me it is her birthday tomorrow, and she hoped I would be able to call in and have a drink. Yes, I say, if I have time. (Of course I will!) Now I shall have to go somewhere tomorrow to buy her a present. Or is that over the top? Flowers? Or should I just settle for a sociable drink? I am not a teenager, I am a married man.
Friday, March 1st
Met Miss Tindle outside the village shop. She was chatting with Barbara Mason, who I only know enough to nod and smile politely at. But she is one of the driving forces behind the village’s Easter Fete – which takes place on what is the nearest thing we have to a village green, where the cricket team used to play, and some lads kick a football around sometimes, and people take their dogs to do their business – and my wife is also on the organising committee. It soon became apparent that Barbara Mason has spoken to my wife more in the last couple of weeks than I have, which actually is not saying much. I struggled to find anything to say beyond bland politeness, but it appears that my wife has indicated that she may not be able to help out this year, because she is likely to still be in York helping her parents out. If nothing else, it was useful to get an update on her plans and the state of my marriage.
Miss Tindle, by the way, informed me that she has made new armbands for all GASSE members, as some people have mislaid theirs. I still have mine, but it might be useful to have a spare. Also I have two arms.
I decided against buying Kristina at The Wheatsheaf a birthday present, thinking it best to err on the side of sensible and boring caution. Praise the Lord! For I would surely have made a fool of myself, since apart from the occasional “regular” wishing her a Happy Birthday nothing out of the ordinary was happening and I would have been very noticeable if I had swanned in with a bouquet of flowers or, worse, a wrapped gift. I confined myself to offering to buy her a drink – which she declined – and I have come home early. I am writing this while half-heartedly watching athletics on the television. I do not even like athletics.
James Henderson
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