I spent many hours on dark winter's evenings working hard on my website. I have been slowly working through Luke's gospel and at the present rate of progress it will take me another two years to finish - God willing. In December I received a parcel of books from freelance preacher and author, Christopher Beardsly, to say thank you for my series of expositions on Acts. It was a great encouragement.

It was good to have a nice number at the Christmas morning service at the chapel. I spent the rest of the day with my brother Philip's family. The children were not as hung over as usual and everyone was in a good mood. Things went down hill a bit in the evening when the girls - Ruth and Beccy - became absorbed by a particular sordid episode of East Enders - mayhem and death followed by more mayhem and death - really cheery stuff for the season of peace and goodwill to all men. After I had been persuaded to watch, 'Strictly Come Dancing', for the first and last time of my life I thought it was time to go home.

At the end of December, after a morning's bird watching, my car refused to start. So I had to wait at Tommy Bamber's for over an hour for the AA man to come. He reckoned the alternator had packed up! This galvanised me into unwonted, decisive action. Next day I went to Marshall's and bought another car. I wanted a diesel but bought a petrol-driven model that was both bigger and more expensive than I intended. That is what comes of putting off a decision until forced into it by circumstances.

The first time I drove out with my friend Tommy to do some bird watching he was mightily impressed with the car - more impressed with it than he ever has been with me. Where did we go? Into the fens - the most desolate, God forsaken bit of country imaginable - to find big flocks of hooper swans and a solitary crane. The scenery consisted of bare black fields, deep dykes and very narrow roads against a background of grey sky and shafting rain. Tommy kept complimenting me on my car, "It's a good buy JR - you wont regret it." Woosh! Woosh! Great sheets of peaty water engulfed us as I ploughed through another deep puddle. "Yes - it was high time you changed that other old wreck." Woosh! Woosh! Woosh!. By the time we left Feltwell Anchor fen - having tracked down a solitary, bedraggled, sorry looking crane - no one would have guessed I was driving a new car. My greatest regret is that Tommy always managed to get his window up before I plunged into each minor flood.

In February I preached at Horham in the afternoon. It is always enjoyable for me to go there because several of the congregation remember my father with affection and some of the old ladies have fond memories of my grandfather Hughes. So I get made a fuss of! One man said, "It's good to have an old Suffolk boy to preach. We can understand what yar say!"

One cold grey morning Tom and I enjoyed a walk round Wicham Fen. We saw to my surprise a great grey shrike. Its eye stripe was clearly visible and we had a good view of it in flight. It was a pleasure to be served coffee in the café by four very cheerful, polite teenagers. One buxom beauty was especially friendly and brought back happy memories of flirting with the girls at school. I have to admit losing whatever knack I had in this respect. For the last six years I have smiled winningly at a black haired beauty in the newsagents when I pay my weekly bill. I bid her, "Good morning!" beam with the utmost good will and I am invariably rewarded with the same sour look. I sometimes wonder what would happen if I chucked her under the chin! So far I have operated on the principle that caution is the better part of valour.

The new season began with a weekend of disasters. On Saturday I suddenly realised that I wasn't wearing my spectacles and couldn't remember what I had done with them. Time was wasted in fruitless search. On Sunday I entertained David and Daphne Cordle for the day. Lunch was spoiled by undercooked potatoes! Then on our way to church in the evening I hit the curb so hard that a tyre split. It is a good job David, our visiting speaker, was a farmer because he was out of the car like a shot to change the wheel. We were only 15 minutes late for the evening service! Things could only get better. They did on Monday when I learned my spectacles had been found intact on Culford School sports ground!

Easter Sunday was a huge disappointment. It snowed so hard at just the wrong time that I had to cancel the chapel services. I imagine that it is the first time in the 160-year-history of the church that Easter services have not been held.

April 19th saw one of the earliest starts to the cricket season that I can remember. We played at Felixstowe in a biting easterly gale off the North Sea. I wore three sweaters but was still cold. Yet on the evening of May 7th conditions were idyllic. The Gestingthorp ground was lovely - a large lush meadow surrounded by trees. Our team only consisted of 9 of which 5 were Reeds. Even my niece Ruth was corralled into playing. But we won! It was a bright still evening. The setting sun lit up the ancient church tower, birds were singing and distant bells were tolling. It was unbeatable.

In May Tommy Bamber and I had a wonderful day trip to the Farne Islands off the Northumbria coast. It was magic to go out in a boat and to get so close to puffins, razorbills, shags with that flash of yellow on their faces and kittiwakes with their primrose bills. When we got back to Newcastle airport for the flight home we were full of good cheer. After Tommy had sunk 2 celebratory pints of Stella Artois he was quite euphoric. Then we looked at the departures board and discovered our flight had been delayed by over 4 hours! I sat and read. Tommy wandered off at regular intervals to come back with the news: "Only another 205 minutes JR." And again, "Only another 176 minutes JR." And again, "Only another 113 minutes JR. And again and again and again! When we got back to Stanstead, joy of joys, I had left my sidelights on and the battery was flat. Phoning the AA was a pantomime. I got in a loop. A disembodied voice kept saying, "If you have broken down and need assistance say, 'One.'" Well I kept saying, "One, ONE, ONE" - to absolutely no avail. By this time Tommy was dancing up and down in frustration yelling things like, "You are holding the phone too near your ear; you're not talking into it; you don't know how to use it, you moron." So I handed the phone to him and the stupid remote word recognition program seemed able to recognise a Lancashire, 'One' better than a Suffolk, 'Wun.'

It was a treat to have tea in the pretty village of Creeting St Mary with four of my old colleagues from Debenham - Ros, Es, Myra and Margaret. Ros, our host, provided a splendid tea. There were no crusts on her sandwiches! The ladies had a merry old time discussing mutual acquaintances in their usual pithy fashion. I mostly just listened in admiration.

My dear Christian friends and fellow Scrabble contestants Edward and Dorothy Underwood provided a good example of the benefits of marriage. Dorothy was feeling under the weather and decided to go to bed early. Edward helped her up the stairs. But half way up she could go no higher. Dorothy said, "It's no good Edward I can't get any further - you must have a word of prayer." So Edward did and whether it was the rest, the prayer, the Almighty or all three together - Dorothy completed her journey and reached her bed.

In the summer I made three visits to London - to visit my Aunty Olive, brother Peter and friends Ian and Marion Brown All the visits were enjoyable in their different ways. It was delightful to have lunch on the terrace of Fulham Palace - the former residence of the Bishop of London - with Ian and Marion. The terrace overlooked a splendid lawn on which young mothers were having picnics were their children. While Marion shopped in Waitrose for scones, jam and cream for tea I engaged an old lady from Southern Ireland in conversation. She kept complaining about the number of immigrants in London!!

In June I camped once again in Blandford Forum. I had 11 days of gorgeous weather. Three days stick in my mind. I had a wonderful walk from Hardy's monument (of Nelson fame) in the chalk downs of West Dorset. The views were absolutely splendid. Unfortunately it is impossible to have tremendous scenery without steep climbs and descents. I didn't mind the descents but the climbs fatigued me. I had to keep stopping to rest on my walking stick. Ten years ago I was able to sail up the hills. Another day I spent exploring Middlebere Heath and Hartland Moor. I was looking for wild flowers and in particular viper's grass. But I had no luck. I did have a lovely view of a Dartford warbler in a gorse bush and a hobby soaring high overhead. What particularly appealed to me was the brooding atmosphere of the most extensive heath left in Dorset with its treacherous bogs. I tried to cross one - teetering from one grassy tussock to the next - peering into the black, stagnant, oily pools - until better sense prevailed. On Sunday I spent ages trying to find an Anglican service of evensong. Eventually I found a church notice board advertising Celtic evensong in Chettle - a tiny hamlet on the southern fringes of Cranborne Chase. There were only 9 or 10 of us in the congregation so once again my singing was appreciated. The sermon, delivered by an ailing Irish priest, was of the briefest but I remember it. He spoke on Peter's miraculous deliverance from prison and referred to Charles Wesley famous hymn, 'And can it be' that is based upon it. How I love the words: My chains fell off, my heart was free; I rose, went forth, and followed Thee.

When I got home from holiday I tried taking my blood pressure with a machine provided by the doctor. I couldn't get it to work. Gu, gu, gu, gu, pssssschu - it kept going with no attendant reading just a funny little cross on the screen. I tried the apparatus in every way known to man including wrapping it round my neck All I go was the funny noise, a little cross, no reading and soaring blood pressure! Eventually I looked at the little cross more closely and noticed it was placed inside the sign for a battery!

I was much amused after a cricket match in early June when one of our lady supporters was asked where the Brockley captain was and she said of my brother Philip: "He's the old boy on the veranda." Then I thought how she might describe me - one of the walking dead? I certainly felt pretty close to death as the end of the season approached. I got knocked about something cruel in the last league game - blows to the lip, fingers, knee, thigh and collarbone. I could hardly get ready for bed I was so totally knackered. Perhaps it is time I called it a day.

I had a nice trip to Woodbridge in August with my friend John Tyers. I tried to get him interested in the black tailed godwits on the mudflats - without much success. He took far more notice of the pretty girls walking by as we drank coffee outside the Whistlestop café. One delightful young thing was being carried on the shoulders of her boy friend - to everyone's enjoyment. Which reminds me - I actually witnessed the black haired beauty in the newsagents smile one summer's morning. A mentally handicapped girl kept making advances toward me - tapping me on the bottom and smiling beguilingly. I think the black haired beauty thought I was getting just what I deserved.

In early September I had a surprise visit from an old school friend, Brian Paton. I reckon it must be nearly 40 years since we last met - and it showed! We saw how many of our old form we could remember - the names kept coming back and back - and with them incidents that made us laugh.

I was pleased to attend the Ruby wedding celebrations of my friends John and Marion Skull. I have had some nice country walks with them during the year. I sorely tested Marion's faith in her friend when I led her and John through a field of longhorn cattle especially when one began to advance in our direction. As soon as we drew level with the docile beasts Marion forged ahead and sped in a lather of perspiration for the style. Before the thanksgiving service for 40 happy years of marriage at Shepherd's Drive Church John pointed out an unusual weed on a nearby building site. It was thorn-apple - a very poisonous member of the potato family from South America - and my only new wild flower of the year.

On my way to spend a few days with my brother Paul and his wife, Ruth, I made a detour to Chessington to attend my aunty Muriel's funeral. My cousin, Bernard, spoke well on what was important to his mother: her faith, her Bible and her church. They hymns were great and the whole service was a fitting tribute to Muriel's piety, sincerity and devotion. I am glad Paul joined me for the service as he was able to navigate to Kingston Cemetery and the Antoinette Hotel where refreshments were laid on - a nice place with a fine dahlia garden. It was good to see some of our cousins again.

I had two days down in Hastings walking and bird watching with my brother. On a walk around round Icklesham, rather disorientated for lack of footpath signs, I stepped over a wire and got a sharp electric shock to the inner thigh. Another 3 inches higher and it would have set me all of a tingle! The only consolation was that Tommy Bamber was not there to witness my discomfit. Late in the afternoon, at Pett Levels, we saw two beautiful long-tailed duck. Next day I spent the evening with my nephew Michael and his family. It was a rare treat to have two little blond haired girls snuggle up to be read a bedtime story and then to listen to Joshua read from his encyclopaedia before wrestling with his father.

I conducted the funerals of two old friends during the year - Sid Bradfield and Gladys Bishop. I shall miss them both but I am glad that full of years they slipped quietly away to their Maker.

In October Mike and Jean Crawshaw invited me to an evening meal with Pauline and Nigel Crowley at Wetheringsett. The food was excellent. It was an opportunity to get up to date news of Debenham High School and to hear about Pauline and Nigel's adventures in Florida. What I enjoyed most I suppose were the kisses.

In November Tommy Bamber and I began a bird survey in Brockley. I am usually pretty good-humoured as Tommy gives me advice on how to drive and the directions to take but when he started to tell me the best way to get a round Brockley my patience finally snapped.

I read a lovely biography in November - a little gem called, 'Blue Remembered Hills,' by the children's author Rosemary Sutcliffe. She could remember the time during her difficult childhood she was put down to sit on downland turf. She marvelled at the pink and white convolvulus smelling of almond paste, the interwoven forest of thyme and scarlet pimpernel, creamy honey-scented clover and cinquefoil and the infinitely small and perfect eye-bright with the spot of celestial yellow at its heart. What a lot we have to thank God for - especially at this time of the year - especially for his dear Son and our Saviour.

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