Z is Sixteen, but not at all Sweet

I didn't get anything done this morning, and then Wink arrived so I didn't even start on the paperwork. Pfft. It'll be done. But I'm sorry if you've emailed me and I haven't replied yet. I haven't replied to anyone, but not because I don't appreciate the letters, and thank you.

What I have done is prepare vegetables for tomorrow's lunch. I'd meant to lay the table, but the last light bulb blew, and the ones in that room are the screw-in sort which we never remember to buy more of. So the Sage will be despatched into town tomorrow to get some. Our dining room is on the north end of the house and the windows face west, so it's a bit subdued-lightingish in there. We had dinner in the kitchen tonight. As we did last week when the lovely Dave came for lunch, as the dining room fire decided not to draw properly and it was too damn cold. He had to gaze upon my untidy shelves and piles of cookbooks, but was far too polite to notice.

Ah yes, Wink said something earlier and I said "I'll blog that!" and then I forgot, but luckily Ro didn't - and filled with the Christmas (and whisky) spirit, he kindly reminded me when I asked.

We were talking about films and books and stuff, and she reminded me of her affection for Harry Potter films. I confessed that I've never stayed awake through the Christmas showing of one and that they are not my cup of tea. She said that she likes the Lord of the Rings films too. I agreed there, but I've always liked the books. She said she hadn't got further than the first 20 pages. We debated this generally for a bit, and she said that she's not very grown-up. Reminding her of my taste in humour (such as Harry Hill's TV Burp, far too unsophisticated for her) and music, I puzzled our relative childishnesses.

"The difference is," she said, "my mind is about 12, while yours has stuck at the age of 16."