June 22, 2022 to June 26, 2022
A few days relaxing
birthday and beer
Collecting his car from Ruskington probably isn't how Dave planned to celerate his birthday, but there you go. His dauhter Sarah drives us back to the garden centre with Radio 4 playing and an interview with Kate Bush to keep us up to date with events.
Once there, the cafe lures us in with the promise of cake and the waitress brings me a my cappuccino with a heart formed in the froth and I ask if it's true love and this totally stumps her.
We look around as I want to buy Dave a birthday treat, but we don't see anything he wants, so after Sarah waves us goodbye, we drive collect the bikes from his cousin's salon in Sleaford, then head to garden centre on the edge of Lincoln.
There's a stack of nice classy terracotta containers on sale and one is reduced from 90-odd quid down to 50 and Dave manages to get a bit more off as it's obviously been there a while and he points out a minor defect to the guy in charge, and as it's cheap I splash out on two other smaller ones for Dave to place on his patio.
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I ride over to Ruby's on Friday and she drives us out to Leicester City's new traning complex. It's huge and pristine and apparently cost £100 million. Oscar is wth their local academy and there's a mini tournament featuring h the half dozen others spread out in this part of the UK.
It's amazing to witness the skill level these youngsters have, but who knows how many will go on to make it as professionals.
Charlie has his first porper game of cricket on Saturday, something he's pumped up about. His mum has bought him all the kit and is extremely nervous as he goes into bat, knowing that if he gets caught or bowled in the first ball or two it's going to be a reall downer. He hits a four on his first swing of the bat.
As it's my birthday tomrrow, we head to a restuarant near the catherdral and have a roodtop table and bask in the warm sunshine.
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That night Dave and I meet Mark in The Strugglers on what I recall being the first visit for quite a few years - I never managed it four years ago for some reason.
The Strugs is a now one of those rare traditional pubs with a variety of cask ales on offer - no juke box or TV or theme. We start chatting to a couple sat near us and it turns out we all know a bunch of people and the woman tells me that sadly one guy who I went to school with died a couple of years ago.
A group of men at the other end of theshoe-box shaped bar begin singing shanties and folk songs, then my younger brother turns up and has lager as he always does before we go for a late dinner in the India restaurant next door. There are more jokes and general piss-taking. Why can't life always be like this?
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