Then we enjoyed a big kite day at the beach on a Sunny Sunday.
We had an odd arrangement for Easter this year at school. Usually, the four days of Easter take place within the fornight's holiday between terms. Often, because of the way that Easter moves about in the calendar, half terms after Christmas can be very short or quite long.
This year, in some sort of trial arrangement, we had two four day weeks around Easter and then the fortnight began. It was interesting but, to be quite frank, after a four day break, no-one (pupils and teachers alike) was much interested in working during those four days after Easter when there was a two week holiday looming.
In the run up, Ross and I did some nice things together during the weekends. We went to Lady Green Nursery together and purchased two helebores and a Sorbaria shrub.
Then we enjoyed a big kite day at the beach on a Sunny Sunday.
The Easter season itself arrived with this intriguing take on the dining arrangements for the last supper. In retrospect, Da Vinci's visual framework must have been taken from the layout of the High Table for the senior ranks in the refectory of a Monastery or a University or such like.
I took Ross over to Barton upon Humber on the Thursday evening for a break away from Liverpool and me. On Good Friday, we all ate out at The Hope and Anchor in South Ferriby. So there was good food and good company as well.
I slipped away on the Saturday to enjoy some time on my own.
On the Sunday, I trundled up to the Vue Cinema in Southport to watch a cinecast of the Royal Opera's new production of Mussorgsky's Boris Gudunov. They had chosen to use the first version which is shorter and more focussed as a political thriller so I was looking forward to political turmoil in a time of troubles all set to music.
In the event, it all felt as though everyone had overstretched themselves. Antony Pappano's Italian repertoire is magnificent and his French very good. The German is less so: this Russian...? Well, you can't be good at everything. There was a brisk pace (in its way fine because you don't want stodge) but this rapidly became haste as moment after moment came and went without making its mark.
Richard Jones's production felt as though he was trawling his back catalogue - two tier set, very flat flats with emblems painted on in bright colours so as to resemble wallpaper. The main idea was to have a mimed sequence depicting the assassination of Dimitri which was repeated a number of times.
The headline performance was from Bryn Terfel as Boris Godunov but he simply did not have the weight of voice to fill out the role. My first encounter with Boris Godunov was in the early 1980s when English National Opera toured to Manchester with a young John Tomlinson in the title role - now there was a resonant, cavernous voice. He was in this production as well. Forty years on and he's still going strong but now in the bit part of the comic extra, a drunken monk named Varlaam. My performer of the evening was John Graham-Hall as the malevolent, scheming Prince Shuisky giving us another completely realised stage portrayal.
Easter Monday, I opted for sport nookie and invited a lad from Manchester to come over. I had had my eyes on Malachi for a while and decided that a threesome would be nice. Unfortunately, my local lad cancelled at the last minute and, at that point, I should have listened to my instincts which said that I should either call the meet off or just go for a 1-2-1.
In the end, I was persuaded by Malachi to let him bring a friend with him. The guy was perfectly good looking in his own way but large, muscled and tattooed - in other words, not my type.
They asked for my opinion on drugs and I said that I was cool but wouldn't partake myself. After my experience with Samuel in February, I knew when I saw the paraphernalia that they were about to smoke crack.
They fucked together but were very automaton-like. They had to watch porn to get hard. I didn't feel as though they were really acknowledging my presence and I didn't feel as though I wanted to get involved anyway.
So, I called for an early finish, made it clear that I didn't want any money back and politely but firmly asked for them to go. Not the best of meets but, as I said, I should really have listened to my instincts.
And then the alarm went off for the first day of those four days before the longer holiday. The hour had changed over the weekend and so I was woken by the alarm at what my body clock thought was 04:50 GMT. It was dark with rain pouring down and the cats were fractious. What a miserable start to a working week.