We (CGF and I) had three nights with The Ageds, which is generally a scary prospect but was fun and relaxing. We all spent one afternoon with CGF’s parents – all the ‘rents together – which was an even scarier prospect, but also went off OK.

We drove to the Midlands on Good Friday and I had wonderful plan to find a pleasant pub in a picturesque village for lunch on the way. Google and prior knowledge helped me find the picturesque village and pub, and I navigated there (without need for map or sat-nav) to arrive around lunchtime. Which is where my plans came slightly unstuck. I hadn’t considered the need to actually book a table. No room at the inn – more like Christmas than Easter. So, we kept the wolf from the door with a hot cross bun and found somewhere to eat a late lunch in the nearest town.

I was going to have a day off parkrun on Holy Saturday (to use the day’s correct, if rarely used, name), but the local event was doing a tribute to a local runner who had died recently, so I thought it would be good to go and give support from the wider parkrun family. And I personal bested the course (though slightly short of my fastest run of all time)!

Back to The Aged’s for a quick shower and change and we set off for Sheffield to have lunch with CGF’s ‘rents.. On our way we saw an unusual site – a convoy of eight or ten white Rolls Royces.

We hadn’t told The Ageds where we were going, and they came up with a range of guesses as to what we had planned (varying on the probability and possibility). Even when we got to Sheffield and drove past CGF’s parents who were walking to the restaurant, Mrs The Aged didn’t twig that maybe we were going to meet them!

We had a lovely Chinese meal – CGF’s dad ordered as he knew what to get (and ordered some dishes that weren’t on the standard menu)

After lunch, we had a short walk to the Winter Gardens where some snooker tournament was going on (well, the tournament was in the Crucible, but I think the Winter Gardens were used for the TV punditry and stuff). They may have been famous people there, but I didn’t recognise anyone. All the oldies got on really well together and were chatting away like old friends. Maybe next time, CGF and I will leave them to it and go off on our own!

Sunday morning, we were woken by bells from the local church, but I didn’t go and join them – even though they were one short and not very good. We went to Leicester to see the Richard III exhibition. A very good exhibition, that I would recommend if you are ever in the area.

The first part of the exhibition was about the life and times of Richard III – not that either his life or times lasted for very long. I hadn’t known that he was king for only a couple of years – I’m a bit vague on my medieval history. I don’t think he was a particularly pleasant person, but am not sure he was as bad as he has subsequently been portrayed. I’m not sure that many people with power in those days were particularly pleasant – definitely more of a Theory-X style of leadership than Theory-Y.

The second part of the exhibition covered the archaeological excavation that had uncovered the body, and that was possibly more interesting – though I’m not sure the display of “ye actual digger bucket” or “ye archaeologist his wellies” added a great deal to the proceedings.

You’ve probably heard the story about how the remains were unexpectedly found in a car park. The archaeologists had hoped to find evidence of the abbey in which the body had reportedly been buried, but finding the grave of Richard III was way down on the list of expectations.

As it was, the leg bones of the body were discovered in the first trench dug – but had they dug it a few feet further over, they would have missed the body completely. All the evidence pointed to this being Richard III: carbon dating put the bones at the right age; shallow grave, too short for the body, narrower at the bottom, and no coffin all pointed to a hasty burial; hands potentially tied together would have been how the body was carried from Bosworth Field. But all this was circumstantial – it was the DNA evidence from a known descendant (actually two known descendants) that clinched it.

But even the DNA evidence had a short window of opportunity. The two descendants have no descendants themselves and are both in their fifties. Another 30 or 40 years and it would have been too late – though I suppose they could have extracted DNA from their bones, as they did from Tricky Dicky’s.

Imagine finding out that you are descended from Richard III. You could claim to be the rightful monarch of England and usurp Elizabeth II. Or maybe, as Richard probably wasn’t the rightful king, keep quiet about it.

Some random conversations from the weekend.

CS3: “What happens at church services on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday?”
Me: “Generally they’re quiet and reflective with lots of sombre music played in a minor key”
CS3: “Not that you’d recognise a minor key …”
This relates to a while ago when she played minor and major chords and asked me to say which was which. I didn’t do very well.

The Aged: “Why doesn’t your dashboard show the speed limiter and cruise control?”
Me: “Because I haven’t got them switched on”
The Aged: “Oh, I didn’t know you could switch them off”
Me: “That explains why you toddle along at 40 mph”

Later, while driving thoroughly a temporary 50 mph zone, I turned the speed limiter on:
The Aged “Why do you use the speed limiter rather than cruise control?”
Me: “Because I want to drive at a maximum of 50 mph not a constant 50 mph”
The Aged: “There’s a difference?”

At the Richard III coffee shop, where the server showed the friendliness and banter of the East Midlander
Server: “Would you like ice with your cold drinks?
Me: “Yes, but only if it’s fresh – I don’t like the frozen stuff”
Server: “We only serve fresh ice here”