The Baker's Oven.

We don't have to go back too many years in history to the days when very few people actually had ovens at home. Long before my time but not inconceivable in the time of my grandparents. In those days a Sunday joint lasted a whole week and was cooked in the ovens of the local baker whilst everyone was at church.

Those days are gone but as everyone is at church I am playing the part of the baker back at dad's. Lovely loin of pork, on a trivet of its own bones, seasoned with salt and paper and skin lacerated by the skilled knife of my friend Mandy it roasts away as I write. It kind of explains why I'm up so early on a Sunday.

Dad's party yesterday was a triumph. Loads of friends, loads of cards and load of presents. The pub laid on a good spread, the beer flowed...quite a lot in Nigel's direction...and a radiant time had. I feel tired but fine.

These few days away have made a nice change. No worries about low mood, anxiety or the perpetual demands of the day job. A full week awaits before the next break. The week after that I'm heading for St Paul's cathedral to meet my friend Rebecca and hear Lancing College choir sing. Looking at the holiday days I have left I plan to take a week break at Easter. Not done that for a couple of years. After a slow start I'm amazed how the weeks have raced by in the always demanding and long Easter term. After that in the blink of an eye the brief summer term will come and go then the long quiet summer awaits. And with each step I move towards that milestone of a decade there. Hardly seem possible.

I Heard a Voice.