On rambling

Of course, by the time I sit down here of an evening, either to read blogs and leave comments or to write to you wonderful people, I am usually tired, emotional or both. Therefore, a son of Belial, flown with insolence and wine*, I usually rabbit on blindly, making you all wonder what on earth I'm on about, or possibly what I'm on.

I'm sorry to say it won't be any different tonight.

I just heard the Sage, on the phone say "I (!)'ve been making 24 pounds of jam" Excuse me? That is not even the Royal I. Oh, there isn't a Royal I. Well...his part in the proceedings has been to hull about half of the strawberries (not quite half, but near enough) and cajole people to give him empty jars.

I might tease him later.

Oh, the rest of the jam will be made tomorrow, as I forgot to get more lemons. I'm in the shop working tomorrow morning, so I'll get them then.

I haven't had any cheques for the Highgrove visit yet, but I have had someone crying off. This is good, as long as no more than fifteen people do it, as then I'll be a bit perplexed.

My friend, whose tea party we went to today, will be ninety in January. She is celebrating for the whole of this year, it being her ninetieth year. Splendid!, as Greavsie would say.

My hip hurts more each day, and I've started limping. I got a self-referral form to a physiotherapist a couple of weeks ago, which is almost as good as actually visiting one (bet there's a long waiting list) but I am starting to think it might be sensible to visit the doctor, just so I can moan at him for a bit. I've a slight doctorphobia, so I am resisting that, but it's boring, having a dodgy leg. I found it really hard to sit on the unimaginably firm Snape seats for several hours. I took a cushion, but usually I take two, and I will next time. I was just glad I'd had the sense not to buy a Prom ticket - there, one does not stand, but sits on the floor. I went to buy a CD in the interval, after moving my car from the pit of doom I'd had to park in and from where I probably would hardly have moved from midnight, and the couple in front of me were hiring seats to go on the floor...except that at this stage there was only one left. I made a sympathetically amused comment to the friendly, slightly camp chap behind the counter. "I find that it's not enough to cushion your bum. Your back really needs support too," he said. Dead right, he was.

*Some people quote from children's feature films. Some from Milton. I like both