So as the World Cup is underway the present Mrs Ives appeared with a Daily Mail insert from a neighbour. The pull out was a chart you could complete as games were played and teams were eliminated or progressed. I naturally scoffed at the neighbour’s suggestion that, like a schoolboy, I would enjoy completing the chart. It turns out she knew me better than I knew myself and I have been found to skip downstairs, pen in hand, every morning to update it. I suspect that my enthusiasm may wain when England get knocked out of the tournament.

The grandchildren bring enormous pleasure although there are some challenges not least an outbreak of nits (head lice) at Isabella’s nursery. This necessitated Anna being called in to help to apply the shampoo that tackles these little mites. More memorable was her arriving at the house to discover various related adults sat around like a colony of chimpanzees checking each other’s scalps to identify infestation and embark on their removal. Maybe this demonstrates they are a close (k)nit family?

I was sad to hear of David Hockney’s death. Taylor Swift and spot welding probably have more in common than I do with fine art but I did especially love the simplicity and colours of his paintings that, as they say in art circles, ‘spoke to me’. He painted many landscapes in the Yorkshire Wolds to the east of the county and it’s here that I regularly cycle. We have bought a few prints from the gallery at Salts Mill where much of his art is displayed, however, if I was mega rich I would happily shell out for his Garrowby Hill work. Although, typically, I then did start to worry that I would need to guard it night and day with a special building, alarms, security guards and an insurance premium that  could support a small African nation.

Since writing I’ve had a couple of holidays in France, quelle surprise as the locals would say. The first was with John as we did a cycling loop of Brittany. A splendid time was had but it coincided with a heatwave (38°C+) and reminded me of my epic, yet impossibly hot days in Queensland in March. We each booked alternate nightly accommodation: as you know lodgings in France can be quirky. My mistake was a B’n’B that included a bed on a lofty platform with a precipitous set of steps (no rail) to access it. Descending in the dark for nocturnal micturition (look it up) and the obstacle course that also lay ahead in the corridor with low hanging beams and a sloping tiled floor was memorable. John’s unforeseen error lay in selecting a loft in a large house that was hotter than hell well into the early hours!

This was followed by a family holiday in Carcassonne. This part of France is wonderful, easy on the eye and a stroll to buy some croissants in the morning is an oft repeated pleasure. I was allowed to take a bike and disappeared into the hills to the south of the city when permission was granted. Frankly it offers some of the most wonderful cycling I’ve ever enjoyed.

Back in the day my parents smoked, as did many relatives and many at my boarding school, usually in the bike shed! I must have, sort of, smoked about 20 cigarettes when I was 17 and that was it. I think along with Bill Clinton I never properly progressed to inhaling. Anyway I never pursued it and over the years it has become identified as a profoundly bad decision for your health (and pocket.) You can imagine our reaction when we were asked to buy some duty free on a returning flight from France. It felt like we were participating in something illicit. 200 cigarettes duty fee costs something like £50 compared to £150 over the counter in the UK. That was an eye opener. Frankly despite the tax revenue opportunity and deterrent idea it seems a very large opportunity for counterfeit or smuggled cigarettes for the unscrupulous as the difference is so wide.

Another outing was with Paul was to the second day (out of five) cricket Test match in Nottingham. The day’s play was excellent with some fine skills on display and lots of action. Test cricket has a dwindling audience globally and judging by this crowd it interested few under the age of thirty five and females were there but not in great numbers. So for the next day, after we attended, for England to throw the match by the retiring captain batting irresponsibly followed by his equally witless vice-captain similarly batting like a clown makes you wonder why you travel hundreds of miles and shell out £70 to witness such contempt and indulgence and precipitate a defeat to New Zealand. I’m glad Stokes is now gone and the hierarchy above him need to move on as soon as possible.

Lastly, I spent a little time with my favourite (equal) granddaughter Elodie and her father at a class for babies in Didsbury last week and thoroughly enjoyed seeing her crawl around and show delight in the activities. Before the class the leader, a lady, came up to me to ask who I was (!) and introduce herself; I was sat down. So as she asked her question I stood up, as seemed polite and put out my hand. Slightly bemused she quipped that my actions were ‘formal’. It made me wonder what has happened to manners and courtesy when such a demonstration of respect is seen as anomalous?