Sunday 26th January 2020

Sunday, and with the football watched already, I could have a relaxing morning, before thoughts of what to do with the rest of the day are brought to mind.

In fact, we had planned to go to Whitstable to visit our friends Wayne and Tracie, and indeed that was still the plan, with beers to take chilling in the fridge.

Jools went to do some gardening, and I sorted through shots for a friend who is having a new book on Kent churches and needed some images to use. And he asked me.

They might not be used. But then they might.

Anyway, it showed me that my sorting of images from some churches wasn't all it should be, so I had to create some new albums, add 50 or 60 shots to each, then find the ones that John wanted.

At the same time I messaged Tracie telling her that we would be round just after midday.

I then got a message back: her neighbour had managed to fall from a ladder onto their hardwood decking, and the ambulance and fire service were on site, they would go to the hospital with his wife once the guy was safely on the stretcher.

No trip out for us.

So, instead I say we could have roast beef for lunch instead of dinner?

It was agreed.

Now, I should point out that growing up, midday meal was dinner and evening meal was tea. Which is why schools have dinner ladies, not lunch ladies. So, Sunday dinner would be served early afternoon, just late enough to allow Dad to go round the Ole Frank for a couple of beers, come home to eat, then fall asleep in his armchair until it was tea time.

So I peel spuds, carrots and put the beef into the oven to roast. Soon the kitchen his filled with wonderful smells.

And then came what we shall refer to as "the soured cream incident": I was looking at the veg I had prepared, and wondered if there might be a bag of sprouts lurking in the back of the fridge. I went to look, and moved a box of cider out of the way, causing a jar of marmalade and a pot of soured cream to fall. I caught, then juggled the jar of marmalade, but the cream crashed to the floor and created an impressive splatter pattern. One that would have impressed Howard Hughes.

I began to clear up, and got the mop and bucket out to clean the floor.

The floor was just about clean, so I gave the mop one last squeeze and the bucket shattered, sending plastic shards and water everywhere. The veg was getting near to being done, and i had gravy to make.....

PANIC.

The small joint takes an hour to cook, then half an hour to rest, just time then once the beef was cooked to steam the veg, put in the Yorkshire puddings to cook and the boiled spuds to roast.

Lunch (dinner) was served just after one, and looked so good I snapped our plates. And we tucked in.

And it was good. I had watched a Jamie Oliver show and now understand how to make gravy, and that came out very well indeed.

Mmmmmm, gravy. Not that white stuff you get in the US either.

The afternoon was spent on the sofa wrestling with sleep and trying to watch the football. While outside darkness fell and a steady drizzle began to fall.

Once the second game had finished, and Liverpool held to a draw by Shrewsbury, we had rolls for our tea, listened to more radio, before going to bed to read at nine.

Not very rock and roll, but relaxing.