Ab scone ded?

I did my SEN governor duty today and spent the morning in the Learning Support department. They have recently bought a new program for helping children who have difficulties with reading, or with literacy generally. This one. It's very good and has engaged the pupils' interest. There is plenty of supplementary work as well as what they do on the computer - there were two boys reading a book about POW camp escapes afterwards and, with the teaching assistant, we all talked about it with interest. All the pupils doing the program have increased their reading and spelling scores; one lad's spelling age has gone up by 2 years in a matter of weeks!

Afterwards, I had lunch at school and stayed for a meeting, which led to another one, and we finally rolled out at 6 o'clock. At least there had been buttered scones with cream and strawberries to keep our spirits up. The Sage, however, rather wondered what had happened to me and whether I was coming home at all.

This evening, I watched 'The Lives of Others', with Ulrich Mühe and Sebastian Koch. Mühe died not long after the film was completed; he was only 3 months older than me. Good film. I'm not too clever at watching films with subtitles as I find it hard not to read while I watch television, so I put it on the computer where I am more likely to concentrate.

A friend phoned a while ago, asking to come and stay tomorrow night, which will be a pleasure. She's giving a friend, over from California to visit her elderly mother, a lift to Lowestoft and she'll come on over here after that.

I'm dismayed that I was stupid enough not to buy a ticket for me when I bought Ro's for the Latitude festival in July. The splendid Okkervil River will be playing. Now the tickets are all sold out. Woe.

manrod

Random facts about me - I've been thinking about this for a couple of days, which gave me time to forget a couple of them. Inspiration is sure to strike as I write.

The rules

1. Link to the person who tagged you - that's lovely Stegbeetle
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
5. Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
6. Let your tagger know when your entry is up.

N. I remember, when I was a child - maybe 7 or 8 - tinned celery hearts being served as a vegetable. This didn't exactly strike me with glee, as I've never been that fond of cooked celery, but that wasn't to say it was not edible and I generally ate what I was given, albeit in small quantities. For some reason, my mother and I were alone (no doubt the reason she hadn't prepared fresh veg) and she had to leave the room for a couple of minutes at just the time I sliced my celery heart open. In the centre was a slug. A very dead, cooked slug. I pondered briefly. My mother wouldn't care for that at all. She would be quite revolted. We were eating (this was indeed rare, and was again because we were alone) in a small back room that had been a scullery and was later turned into a little sitting room, with a coke-burning stove. I opened the stove door, chucked in the slug and heard it sizzle. Then, for what else could I do?, I ate the celery. I figured that the canning process had removed any germs.

O. I learned numbers from watching the football results on television. On a Saturday evening, my mother left me watching tv while she prepared my tea after my bath. I would have been 2 or 3 at that time. After a few weeks, she was surprised to find that I could recognise numbers. I suppose I didn't learn how much they represented, but i could match the sound to the shape.

R. When in doubt, I say yes. This doesn't mean I can't and don't say no, but I'm far more inclined to go for it.

M. I never put my iPod on shuffle, as I prefer to listen to the whole album.

A. Horses like me. They find me soothing.

D. As a child I had a sardonic, blackish sense of humour. I loved Saki, Tom Lehrer and the Addams Family cartoons. I have never been cute or adorable - that is, I am because hey, I can't help radiating sweetness, but I resist it. My most disliked nursery rhyme was the dreadful 'sugar and spice and all things nice' for little girls, while the boys had the much cooler slugs and snails and puppy-dogs' tails. Not that I wanted to be a little boy.

Rules 4, 5 and 6 - I'm rubbish at tagging. I never remember who hates tags and who likes them. If you do it, let me know please?

Pretentious? Zoi?

Oh dear. I got a bit carried away by enthusiasm for today's lecture and didn't resist the temptation to quote poetry. At least it wasn't too well known, so if I made any mistakes it's not that likely anyone noticed. It was a damn fine lecture about the history of photography, and I do love really old photos. I don't mean so much the staged ones of the awkward -looking Victorian people being snapped, very slowly, for posterity, but the ones taken by early enthusiasts, many of whom had the artist's eye as well. There was a very early one by Fox Talbot which I loved - the back of a house with an open shed door and a besom broom leaning against it, and a picture, taken from a low angle, of several flights of worn stone steps, curving and converging, at Wells Cathedral. There was a poignant one of the Valley of Death (sorry to be melodramatic), bare and bleak except for scattered cannonballs, a picture of Abraham Lincoln during the American Civil War, a cheerful Rossini and a pair of Scottish fisher girls from a century and a half ago. Fascinating. I'd love to have them in a book to stare at and study.

Anyhoo, I duly did my speech, all 3 pages of it - yes, I wrote it out verbatim although I didn't actually read it out, but there were too many people to thank and too many specific things to say, to just do bullet points and hope. Well, so I claim. It was a formalish annual review. Enough excuses.

Afterwards, we took the speaker for lunch, which was a pleasure.

And now, as the sun still shines, I'm going to ride statelily into town to fetch vegetables for dinner. I don't know what we're having for dinner yet - doesn't bother me, I had lunch out. Heh heh.

three-quarters of an hour later Oops! It's the Sage's birthday. I'd forgotten. *heads out for the freezer to find something easy to defrost and delicious*.

Z met the deadline

So now I can go to bed. Shouldn't leave starting work until 9 pm, should I?

Whether or not

I wrote this on 15th April. The lecturer today couldn't find where he was supposed to park because it's a little side road leading to a private car park, and his SatNav didn't recognise it. Although he had written instructions, he's not the first person I've found to rely so heavily on SatNav that they can't follow any other directions. A friend was amused when he was given a lift and his directions to his own house were ignored in favour of the satnav's. Which got them there quite satisfactorily, he reported. I suppose this sort of thing was at the heart of my resistance.

Anyway, the weather. Dave's absolutely right, it's awfully changeable round here from one place to another. We used, as you know, to live in Lowestoft and my in-laws then lived in this house, half an hour's drive away. We used, often, to have Sunday lunch with my mother and stepfather and then come over to Pa and Ma for tea. It was noticeable, in the winter (in those days, snow came more reliably each year) that the depth of snow increased as we came inland; between L'toft and Beccles and between Beccles and here. On the other hand, the spring was earlier as we came inland in equal measure. It was much windier, as you'd expect, on the coast and, once we'd moved, we'd set off for a day by the sea and find that we should have remembered the woolly cardies. Where we used to live, on P@kef1e1d cliff, if there was a beautiful sunny day, it was often followed by days of unremitting fog, whereas a mile or two inland the sun broke through and it was hot again.

It was the bands of rain that we always remarked upon though. I think it's because of all the rivers around here. Generally speaking, it's the driest area of the country in terms of rainfall, although as so much water flows through, it's one area that has never had a hosepipe ban in summer. Household water comes from underground aquifers rather than reservoirs. Around the rivers, there are often broad areas of water-meadows or marshland, used for grazing animals, to soak up floodwater. These are unsuitable for building on or cultivation and farmers receive grants for keeping them in good order for wildlife and the environment - for example, by not using nitrate fertiliser.

I've gone off the point, sorry. Rain. Yes, it's not unusual to drive into a band of rain across the road which, a few miles later, vanishes again. A while ago, I was with Dilly, north of Norwich and we drove in and out of black clouds and pouring rain, alternately with a blue sky, fluffy clouds and bright sunshine. It was odd.

There are particular villages where, if it's going to rain, that's where it starts. This one tends to be dry. It always rains at Barnby. Boringland (which starts with a P, but sometimes has its initial altered, to general hilarity) is likely to be wet. A thunderstorm sometimes rolls round the Waveney Valley for hours, seemingly trapped by the curve of the waterways.

The North Norfolk coast is supposed to be particularly sunny. Cromer, on the North-East corner, is said to be sunniest of all - I daresay there are records to back this up but, I have to say, this has never been my experience. Every time I visit my sister-in-law there, it has been dull and often drizzly.

The sun is shining now. I'm going to put washing on the line.

Z is told where to go

So, Weeza and Phil have chosen carpets and other flooring and paint colours, and booked fittings. Furthermore, their tenant has moved out, so the house is properly theirs. I started to feel excited as soon as I walked in again from waving her goodbye, but it took a while for the slow big grin to spread above Weeza's face, as it started to sink in. She's still pacing herself though; it'll be a few weeks yet before she finishes work and moves here, leaving Phil to finish packing up and loading the heavy stuff and leaving the London flat empty. I will so miss my overnight London visits - I usually go up on a Friday, spend a day doing this and that, meet them for dinner - El is a whiz at finding good restaurants with half-price offers - and then we have a day together before I come home on Saturday evenings - but the pleasure and excitement of having her within 20 miles and the prospect of the baby to come more than makes up for it; indeed, it doesn't matter at all.

We thought a barbecue last night. Sadly, the weather forecast was accurate and it rained, until I served up steak in the west-facing dining room, whereupon the sunlight streamed in again. Today, another lovely morning, but it rained at lunchtime, so it was just as well that we hadn't tried again with the outdoor eating. We drove over to the house and then to the station for a cup of tea before the train came in, and it started to tip down yet again as I was about to leave them. It wasn't that far to the car, but I was wet through and my hair was dripping, so that I had to comb it back and the unaccustomed sight of my pale bare forehead startled me.

I tried out the new satnav and am a happy convert. I am a Luddite at heart, rejecting most innovations, but I rather liked the unnagging tone of the directions and, although I ignored the voice at one stage and went my own way, there was no fuss but a few seconds of quiet reconfiguration and then a polite suggestion of the next turning, which was the one I wanted to take all along. On the way home, it was entirely good-natured and caused no dissent at all, unlike Dilly's sister's, which tried to send her several miles the other way to the main Lowestoft to Norwich road, quite unnecessarily. Next weekend, I'll be driving to their London flat and I've got lost doing that before (on a rainy November night; the only other time I've driven there I was all right) and I just don't want the anxiety: which is the reason for the satnav.

Where everyone knows your name

Hard not to snap back to good humour when you go into Yagnub. Helped by the westerly wind behind me, I pedalled hard up the hill by the post office and was puffing a bit as Penny crossed the road in front of me. "I'm slow, you've plenty of time," I called. "Mind that hip!" she returned. I went into the butcher and asked for thick sirloin steaks. Adrian remarked that the Sage had enjoyed the meat he'd bought himself for his lunch the other day (he'd been eating fish or veggie all week and maybe felt a little deprived). I said that he'd offered to share, but I'd already cut a lovely artichoke from the garden. Tracy in the bakery started to put my rolls in a bag and then said "Ooh, better not, Alex wouldn't like it!" I agreed, and said I'd get the blame. "Mind you don't drop them as you cross the road." "If I do, that'll be Al's fault."

I went along to the library - I forgot that I'd been in last time on a Friday, so I had a 75p fine to pay - and stocked up on canvas bags for Al, who sells them at cost price in the shop. Then I went back and picked up some lovely local lettuces, Webbs Wonder and Cos, for tonight and chatted to several customers, including Penny who had worked her way round town and was getting her heavy vegetables last. An elderly car was parked on the yellow line and the traffic warden was standing there. "That's Bill's car," said Al. "I know," he said. "Go on, then, give 'im a ticket!" The warden grinned. "I've warned him often enough." "He's in the butcher, he'll be out as soon as he spots you." Bill saw him and he shot out and into the car. "I have told you, you know, this'll have to be a final warning." Bill didn't believe him, you could see. "You're parked on the pavement drop too, for wheelchairs, that's worse than just the yellow line," I said and, to the warden, "You're a good, kind man." "Hm, up to a point..." he replied. "I'm not buttering you up, I'm on my bike," and he grinned at me.

There's a link I want to put in to a newspaper article, but the EDP's search is really quite poor and I've never found out how to find a particular thing I need to find. The town and the person and the date doesn't do it - I'll have to have another try later. I must go now to fetch my girly and her chap from the station.

Later The local paper only puts in headline news on the day, you have to pay for an e-edition to get the whole of the paper's contents, which is all right, because the article was in yesterday. But it doesn't seem to be there yet. Maybe they don't update at weekends.

There's always the weekend to look forward to

The Year 9 music pupils in today's lesson were having their work recorded, for playing back and evaluating at the next lesson. It's been an ambitious project - each class was split into small groups, usually of 4 or 5, and they had to write, arrange and play a piece of music in their chosen style. Some of the groups tackled this with a lot more confidence than others, but I've been impressed by the work they've all put in and the results. It's not the way we were taught music when I was at school.

I was tired and had to walk up the hill to the school. I knew I looked drawn and miserable and I couldn't help it - it was all right when I was with someone and had an animated expression, but in repose my face drooped. On the way home, I noticed the gardener in the churchyard mowing the grass and I went along to tell him the date of the festival, so that he could cut the grass and tidy up in the week before. As I came back, an old lady was walking through the side gateway followed by her granddaughter (I suppose) who had driven her there. They were both carrying flowers. The older woman's were bright, pretty colours of summery flowers and it made me cry, to think of her visiting her husband, with nothing to express herself with but pointless blossoms that he wouldn't see her carefully arrange and lovingly water.

This afternoon's meeting, which was to confirm or disallow the permanent exclusion of a school pupil, was straightforward, but depressing.

Tomorrow, Weeza and Phil are coming up to meet the carpet fitter at their house in Norwich, to where they are moving next month. The train service has been horribly delayed by track problems all week and the lastest thing was a derailed goods train yesterday. They will be bused from Colchester to Ipswich and the journey will take nearly an hour longer each way. I'll ferry them around to do some shopping - paint and the like - take them to the house and also buy the Sage a birthday present for next week. We'll celebrate on Saturday evening, while we're all here.

Al panicked this morning when he discovered an order on the board for stuff he didn't have - lollo rosso lettuces, endives, several pineapples, 20lbs of tomatoes, herbs, 15 lbs of strawberries --- it went on. He rang and there was no reply, so the Sage went out to visit the customer and see whether they were for today or tomorrow. Her husband was there. "Um, no," he said, "the order's for next week." The Sage went back and reported to Al who had, by then, noticed the date clearly written and who has meekly accepted the description of 'plonker.'

Z's had enough

Another day over, thank goodness. Tomorrow won't be an easy one either. Today, that is, as it's after midnight again. And one piece of upsetting news after another this week - nothing personal to me, you understand, but affecting friends. Though I did just find a rather cold and withdrawing sort of email from someone, out of the blue which, as I was already low, has upset me. I sent a slightly too polite reply, rather formal - if I'd left it until tomorrow I might written in a different style but fuck it, why should I? I'm always the smoother over and the one who absorbs other people's moodiness and I don't feel like it tonight. I can't be bothered.

Oh damn, I'm going to go and have a lovely hot bath and then I'll wake up my husband and he will cuddle me and I'll feel all right again. Sorry darlings, I'll be better once tomorrow afternoon is over.

xx

English scones (since you ask)

Plain Scones

These are not very sweet or rich, but if I'm putting jam and cream or butter on, there's no need for them to be.

8 oz self raising flour (or plain flour with baking powder* as recommended on the pack)
1 ½ oz butter at room temperature
1 ½ tablespoons white sugar
pinch of salt
5 fluid ounces milk
A little extra flour for rolling out.

Sift the flour into a bowl and rub the butter in until it resembles fine breadcrumbs, ad the sugar and the salt, then add the milk, stirring in with a knife and then making a dough with your fingers.
Turn the dough onto a floured board and roll out gently to about ¾ of an inch – don’t make them too thin, but thicker is all right. Cut out with a pastry cutter or knife, put on a floured baking dish, bake for about 12 minutes, depending on size, at gas 7, 425F or 220C (not sure what you use!). When cooked, they will be golden brown and look cooked underneath too. Cook on a wire rack, eat while slightly warm.

Fruit scones

6 oz self raising flour (or 3 oz white SR flour, 3 oz plain wholemeal and 1 teasp baking powder*)
½ teaspoon powdered cinnamon
1 oz soft brown sugar
1 oz butter
1 ½ oz mixed dried fruit, or just raisins
1 large egg
2 – 2 ½ tablesp. milk
Make as before, adding the cinnamon and fruit before the egg and milk, which you beat together.
They take 15 -20 minutes to cook.

Cheese scones

6 oz SR flour (or as in previous recipe)
½ teasp dry mustard powder – if you don't have that, a little prepared mustard mixed with the milk.
½ teasp salt if you wish
1 oz butter
3 oz grated strong Cheddar or similar cheese
1 large egg
2-3 tablesp milk

Mix dry ingredients, rub in butter, add most of the cheese (reserve about 1 tablespoonful), mix to a dough with the egg and milk beaten together.
Cut out the scones – it’ll make 6 – 8 – and brush the tops with milk and sprinkle on the reserved cheese.
Bake (same temp as before) for 15-20 minutes, serve warm with more butter if you like.

Exact proportions don't matter with any of these, I just chuck it all together until it feels and looks right. You can't go far wrong, just don't roll them too thin and if you accidentally do, call them rusks.

*Baking powder is a mixture of cream of tartar and bicarbonate of soda – for half a pound of flour you'd need 1 level tablesp., which is 15 ml (sorry to switch to metric suddenly) baking powder. If you're mixing your own, it's 2/3 cream of tartar to 1/3 bicarb. I said to Yoga Gal that I replace some of the milk with buttermilk or plain yoghurt, but I didn't mention that, if I don't, I might add another teaspoon of baking powder, even if I've used SR flour.

Z is sad

Oh, I thought I'd written a post - I just came on to alter the date to just before midnight; but I haven't. It was typing out those recipes for Yoga Gal.

Right. Um, I didn't do a lot today - just a meeting this morning, for which I have to write up notes ...that reminds me, I've got some from last week too because the secretary forgot the meeting and so I did minutes. I looked after Pugsley this afternoon, cycled in for fruit and veg - I'd asked the Sage to take my car this morning and fill it with petrol as Weeza and Phil are coming for the weekend and need to use it - and then biked in again for a new intake evening at school. One father seems to be interested in becoming a governor and I gave him my email. One of the other governors came in at about 20 to 9 and said it was just started to rain, so I hastened home (yes, provident woman that I am, there was a raincoat in the pannier and -AND- I'd remembered to put new batteries in the front light.

Actually, I'm a bit gloomy at present, because I heard today of a third friend who has died. None of these were young; one was just 86, one was 70 (that's pretty young really) and this one was 85. She and her husband (an old teacher of the Sage's) live some 120 miles away and the Sage is pondering whether he'll manage to go to the funeral. I can't, I've got an engagement that day.

In addition to that, two friends have just found they have cancer - both of them are around 80 - worrying news.

But, to finish on a happier note, a hen pheasant has been proudly bringing her babies to show us. She has nine of them and they've had several fine days to give them a good start in life. The rain this evening was only a shower - but it gave me a good excuse to get home in time to watch the final of The Apprentice. As ever, Siralun chose unwisely and will deserve all he gets.

(A few minutes later) - back again to backdate this to yesterday - it's 1 am, but you wouldn't want two posts on a Thursday, would you?

Z did the washing up

I arrived at the shop at 8 this morning, which does help as there's a lot of plants to get out at this time of the year. I went out at 11.30 to do some shopping for the doo this evening, bought some chops for the Sage and Ro's dinner and a ham and salad roll for my lunch from the bakery. As my bike panniers were crammed full, I was glad to see the Sage (with car) outside the shop and handed it all over for him to take home. Dilly arrived soon after Tim left at 12.30 and she served while I bunched up asparagus (if you leave it loose, customers break it as they handle it and a lot is wasted) before my meeting.

We left the Chairman of governors with a lot to do, I'm afraid, but in a supportive sort of way ;-) and then I went back to the shop, advised Dilly (yes, she did ask first) on the contents of a regular fruit box and went home. Al was going in to help pack up and the Sage and Ro would look after the children, while I prepared food.

First, I put on eggs to hard-boil, then I made a batch of scones, then I sliced a cucumber into quarter-inch slices, then I whipped cream, then I took the eggs off the stove, then - nearly too late - I removed the scones from the oven. I decrusted and buttered a small loaf, mashed the eggs with seasoning and mayonnaise, packed panniers and left for the church. There, I switched on the water heater, topped bread with smoked salmon, more bread with egg mayonnaise, cucumber slices with Boursin cheese, scones with cream and strawberries and, as other food arrived, put it on plates. I'd brought biscuits, crisps etc, but didn't open them as there was loads.

The bit that nearly scuppered me was having been asked to play for a hymn at the start. But it did give me a sit-down, and I had a quick swig of port at Communion time and belted back to make coffee. I'd already put out cups and saucers. Sue and I put out the food - we had put that outside, as chairs were in the meeting room and the hall isn't big enough. I put milk outside too, to force people out.

45 people emptied 4 cafétières, 3 teapots and nearly a litre of milk. Afterwards. they went in for their meeting while I washed up. At the end, I stood bearing foil plates and plastic dishes and asked people to take more food with them. As it was a meeting of religious types, I pointed out that it would have to be thrown away otherwise, and by the end very little was left. I finished washing up and left for home at 10.15.

I'm glad I won't be doing it again tomorrow.

The Sage forgot about Z

I know, you can hardly believe it and nor can I. But I was stood up; not with disdain aforethought but through sheer amnesia.

Al went to work this morning, but I was not surprised when he returned after an hour, so I went in to help Tim. Monday mornings are always busy - for one thing there's always a big order received as so much has sold out on Saturday and then there is a lot to check and possibly throw out; and it's often a busy morning as people need to stock up after the weekend. However, I was home by 12.30 and ate a quick but delicious lunch of granary bread (unadorned), raspberries, plain yoghurt and cherries. The yoghurt is a bit of a slog actually; I bought it a week ago, two 500g pots, but as they were out of whole milk stuff I bought fat-free and, to be honest, it's a bit too worthy. I've taken to adding a spoonful of Greek yoghurt to perk it up, but it's still taking some getting through.

I drove to the blood donor clinic in case I felt woozy and not like cycling the 3 miles home - I was fine, but was a little tired when on my way to the hairdresser later; I had to stand on the pedals to make it up the hill. Then I spent the rest of the afternoon in the shop - Tim offered to stay until the end of the afternoon and I gratefully accepted. I had a front door key, and the Sage said he'd call in at 6 o'clock with his key, to lock the back door.

At 6.20, I phoned home. No reply. I phoned Ro's mobile. Little chance of a reply there, he usually leaves it on the kitchen table once he gets home from work. Finally (I was tired and hungry) I phoned Al and asked if Dilly could bring in a key.

Two minutes later, my mobile rang. "Are you still at the shop?" asked the Sage cheerfully. I knew he was at home, as the display showed "Us". "You were supposed to call in half an hour ago to lock the back door," I reminded him tersely. "Oh! My meeting went on a long time." "It was the last thing you said to me when I left the house" - I was stern. He was abashed. Legless for standing purposes.

Five minutes later, having warded off Dilly, he drew up. I was smiling by then (mercurial isn't in it - I am the mistress of the mood change). "There's a bottle of pink in the fridge; have a glass poured for me"

And he did. Even better, Dilly and Co had only eaten half their chicken for dinner and she gave me the rest, with potato salad and coleslaw; I hastily washed a lettuce, sautéed courgettes to add to leftover couscous and dinner was ready 15 minutes after I started preparing it. The Sage also used a particularly nicely-shaped glass for the wine, which makes such a difference to one's enjoyment. I don't often use good glasses, as I put them in the dishwasher, but he is unaware of such things and that's fine with me.

Z sorts out her Diary and is still Gung Ho

Okay, plans for the week change a bit. Al has now got The Bug. Ro and I, the only ones unscathed by it, are very nervous. Trouble is, Al has a shop to run and Eileen is still on holiday. So...I've a free morning tomorrow, so I can go in early and set up and stay to work with Tim, because Monday mornings are often busy. He can manage in the afternoon, when I've a trip to the blood donor clinic and then a haircut booked and then I'll take over again for the last hour or so and pack up. Right, that's sorted.

Tuesday, I can cancel the morning appointment; the afternoon one is a bit more tricky but it can go too. I'm supposed to be doing food for a meeting in the evening, but I can always do it ... er.... oh, never mind, it'll be fine. Wednesday isn't too busy, so Tim can spare me for an hour or two for another meeting. I'm free in the afternoon. Thursday, I hope Al is better and he'll have to be on Friday because I have something on at 2 o'clock that I'm needed for - a school thing that's confidential but has a time limit and statutory conditions and, while I personally don't matter, it'll be awkward to find someone else.

If I'm ill, I suppose I'll just have to not eat and drink, because that's what causes the problems. I'm relying heavily on alcohol to keep me well. I've drunk all the wine (except the good stuff and the raffle prizes) so have moved on to gin. Unfortunately, there's no ice and no tonic. I used sparkling apple juice, which was a bit sweet so I added the juice of half a lime; this made it taste a bit odd so I added another slug of gin and it seemed to improve it a bit, anyway I drank it.

Update, 11.15 Alex came in a while ago to say he feels better. The Sage gave a hollow laugh after he'd gone, saying that he felt better each evening for 8 days, but there was a severe recurrence of symptoms in the night (actually, he didn't say all those words, as he doesn't speak like an 18th Century pedant, but I've added the last 11 of them to explain what he meant). We'll see what happens. I hope Al's optimism is rewarded.

Z flexes her fingers

I went in for the papers after church and arrived home just before 9.30. The Sage was on the phone being sympathetic to someone (a friend of a friend; we've met her sister but not her) who has come over from California to visit her mother who is very ill. I was on the way to the kitchen to put the kettle on when the other phone rang. It was Andy, who was due to play the organ at today's 11 o'clock service. "I've just been called out," he said dolefully. "I'll play, no problem," I said. He's an undertaker - well, someone has to be and he's a very helpful one, but he's often on call at weekends. My mother died in the early hours of a Sunday morning too, and the undertakers arrived by 10am, only a couple of hours after I rang them.

So I'll be off again as soon as I've had breakfast, to run through the hymns before everyone else arrives.

The good news is that the sun is out. It broke through the clouds shortly before 9.10, as I was on my way to fetch the newspaper.

Zed bed

I fell asleep on the sofa, while watching Have I got news for you - only for ten minutes, but I'm still sleepy. I should go to bed, but I'm a bit reluctant as I'm not good at the early night. It's such a pleasure to be asleep before 11, but then I might be awake by 3 and not able to nod off again.

Anyway, another day ticked off and I've the whole of tomorrow afternoon free. If the weather is a damn sight better than today's, I'll take the newspapers out on the lawn to pretend to read them, and actually sleep all afternoon.

I apologise for not putting up the books I read last month in May's Book Binge. I took some of them back to the library, having carefully written down their titles and authors, and have mislaid (no, not lost, I just don't know where it is) the card they're written on. I'll look tomorrow, in between coming home from church and flopping on grass or sofa to sleep. I'm wondering how memorable were those library books, if I can't remember even what three of them were.

Right, I'm off to bed. I'm an exciting Saturday night companion, don't you think?

The Z is out of joint, though not literally

I've given up a bit on keeping the plates spinning - I've just balanced them very carefully and am hoping they stay there until after the weekend. All this week's jobs have been done, I'm reasonably sorted for tomorrow's wedding and after that (bearing in mind I have to be in church at 7.30 on Sunday morning) I'll start thinking about next week. I'm slightly tetchy this evening, so will keep out of the way in here for a bit so that I don't say anything I'll have to apologise for.

Damn. I've got to send an emergency email to the PCC. hang on, I'll be back.

Right, done that. It's about next Tuesday - didn't think I should leave it until Sunday.

I read in the paper yesterday that a friend's father has died, and another friend's mother's funeral notice was in the paper today. He had been extremely ill and had outlasted his strength several weeks ago; but his daughter looked after him to the end. She (the mother) was only 70 and I didn't know she'd been ill. I'm very sad for both families - and sorry that it means two more funerals to go to.

I've just had one reply to emergency email, which offered help. How lovely people are.

I had to see a friend just outside Norwich this afternoon, so took a back road or two to cut out the ring road. Unfortunately, I came upon a whole twinkling of police and various emergency cars, had to turn back and make a five mile detour. When I returned an hour or two later, there was a great deal of sand strewn all over the road, so it must have been a collision in the rain. One never sees the accidents one has come upon reported in the press; it's always other and often minor ones, so I suppose I'll never know what happened; but then it's none of my business anyway.

Remembered to reply to another email. I'm not so good at switching off. And another. Damn. Or good, less to do later.

Sorry, you're getting an insight into my mind. This is what it's really like being me. When I apologise to my family for the horror of it all, I remind them that they're lucky really. They just have to live with me. I have to live with BEING me.

I'll listen to the Old 97's until I feel relaxed and gentle.

I'm still well, I only have to last another 30 hours and it won't matter nearly so much, except that next Friday is vital, and this a 9 day bug. Hm. Whisky. I'll broach the Laphroaig, as no germs can live through that.

PS - I just bobbed back to the Kitchen Witches, to cheer myself by reading their happy news again - they've had their first baby, a lovely little girl - and I read all 39 messages of congratulation, and I feel very cheerful and a bit emotional. Things are still good, when so many people care and lovely things still happen. Best wishes to all three of you Kitchen Witches.

Mood transformed, I'll drink my whisky and go and kiss my husband. Have a good weekend, darling friends.

Z's grandchildren love films

Steady rain today, which is getting heavier. I stayed in bed late, to be woken up by the Sage calling cheerily up the stairs that he was just off to fetch the asparagus. He received a reproachful answer (and apologised later, when he arrived home) and I dozed off again. Ten minutes later, the phone rang. It was Dilly, wanting me to let Kenny (ex-gardener, who will be 88 this month) not to call round today, which he often does on a Friday to see the children, in case he catches the Bug. She also wondered if we had any Weetabix, as Pugsley was asking for it.

I dressed hastily and went through with the Weetabix. Pugsley was sitting crying in his high chair. I held up the packet. He stopped and, as soon as it was in his bowl, dived his spoon in, even before milk was added. He ate two, but before he had finished Squiffany was through, asking to watch the scary film. I looked quizzical. "Ghostbusters" admitted Dilly. "I didn't feel up to doing a thing with them yesterday and they've seen all the children's films we have, and you can only take so much CBeebies." "Scary film, scary film!" chanted Pugsley excitedly. Evidently, the love affair with Labyrinth is over for the time being. I wonder how they'd take to Some Like It Hot?

Among the eels

I spent today in Ely. If you don't know it, it's not far from Cambridge, in the fens; that is, marshland; although a good deal of drainage has taken place, Ely is still, technically, an inland island. It's famous for its cathedral, which is impressive without and lovely within, and also contains a museum of stained glass which is brilliant. We had a guided visit and it was so interesting. The cathedral tour was ably led by a lady in her 60s, I suppose, who was quite portly but had slender and shapely ankles and calves (look, these things matter) and the museum tour was taken by a young academic called Rosie, who was very knowledgeable and answered all our questions.

I arrived home at 10 to 7, just in time to belt down to the church to join in the preparations for the wedding on Saturday. They are so happy and in love, does my old heart good to see them. They've invited me to the wedding reception - I hope my posh frock fits; it might be a bit big, I'm looking forward so much to the wedding that I'm forgetting to be terrified, which is not wise. I'll practice assiduously all tomorrow morning and be note perfect. We've established the length of the voluntary that will greet the bride - it needed to last about 30 seconds, but not sound as if it was cut short. I've abbreviated and then cut out a chunk and gone to the coda...if I knew how to record on to the computer without larking about on YouTube, I'd give you a tinkle, but I don't.

Anyhoo, the family are, apparently, much better, but have cancelled this weekend's trip to London, for fear of passing on germs to Weeza - she can do without a stomach bug at 7 months pregnant. I am keeping up my alcohol consumption, which I (and the Boy) reckon to be the best protection against bugs. Not having eaten much for a few days, my system has ground to an entire halt, which is not to suggest that the squits would be in any way welcome.

Send in the Clones

Dilly isn't quite better after all, so I took Squiffany to her nursery school today. She looked very sweet in her little red and white gingham dress, clutching her blue book bag. It took me a few minutes to persuade her car seat into my car, as I haven't shifted it for a while, but we arrived on the dot of 9. Several other little children were trotting towards the gate with their mothers or daddies or, in one other case granny, and it made me, unreconstructed 60s hippy chick that I have never realised I must be, a little sad.

Some years ago, there was a move away from uniforms. Most primary schools, apart from the private ones, gave them up altogether and so did some high schools; or at least there was a colour scheme rather than an actual uniform, but the mood has shifted over the last ten or fifteen years and now most schools have uniform. But these are 3-year-olds and the reasons for a uniform - that it promotes a sense of unity and pride in the school, tidiness, minimises competition for the newest and smartest clothes, makes the pupils more identifiable, etc, don't really apply here. What it did for me, as I watched these little identically-dressed tots trot in through the gate, was to indicate that they were part of the system, losing their individuality, expected to conform; and I think they are simply too young to have to learn that dreary lesson. At least, for painting, they still use an old shirt of their dad's, round the wrong way with the sleeves shortened. Won't be long before the parents are expected to fork out for a regulation artist's smock, I daresay.

Since then, by the way, she has developed similar symptoms to her mother, brother and her (now recovered) grandpa. Ro, Al and I are looking at each other in some trepidation. It would be most inconvenient for me to be ill any time before the 23rd, when I have a few fairly free days. Any time is very awkward for Al, especially if I'm not free or able to take over the shop, and any stomach problem gives Ro terrible migraines.

Z is nearly asleep

A few more things ticked off the list and I'm winding down nicely. Today's meeting and lunch were fine - I decided at the last minute; that is, about 5 o'clock yesterday evening, that hot food would be much simpler than cold and so it was. The Sage was on fine form at lunchtime, which was lovely as he wasn't well for a week - one of those bugs which goes around making a nuisance of itself; Pugsley and Dilly have had a milder version of it over the last couple of days, although they're better now too.

After everyone had left, at about 3.30, I said that I was going to see how Dilly was and opened the door. A strong whiff met me - Tilly, emboldened by the fuss everyone had made of her, had been and rolled in a cow pat. She was miffed when I wouldn't let her in. I did after a while, to feed her, but then shut her in the porch while I went to play with the children. Later, I had to go to another meeting (and found myself taking the minutes, boo) so cycled cheerily past the Sage and Ro, who were just directing Tilly towards a bucket of water and some shampoo, and I apologised insincerely but truthfully for not having time to help. Now, she is lying beside me on the sofa with a sweet-smelling and glossy coat. She's probably mortified.

Ro's car needed some work done on it before it passed its MOT - since it stood him in at some £450 two years ago and he spent about £100 on it last year and £150 this, he feels he has been doing rather well at cheap motoring. He wishes he could bear to go to work by bus, but it just takes so long - the last few days has reminded him how dull it is to spend an extra hour and a half on his daily journey and how short the evening is after he gets home. He came home early this afternoon so that he and the Sage could fetch the car. I spent £40 in the local Co-op yesterday (wine, mostly) to get him a 4p-per-litre-off voucher - I suppose they put it on to take it off, but with diesel at £1.30; that is, £5.50 per gallon, he doesn't want to drive any distance for cheaper fuel.

D'you know, I think I'll have an early night. Goodnight, darlings.

An Owl of Dismay

The chap from the Barn Owl Trust has called to check our owl box and see if it's inhabited. There are owls around, but I don't know if that's where they live.

I went, a few months back, to an information day about church maintenance - I learned a lot about gutters and drainage - the general principle is that if you keep your gutters and drainpipes in good nick, that's most of the repairs saved, except major structural ones, and many of them are caused by water in the wrong place anyway. Most of the questions were about bats in churches. Their droppings are very acidic and can damage, for example, marble monuments and wooden furniture, and pews have to be kept covered apart from service times, too or else people will sit on batshit and be displeased.

A local church (not in our village) has a big problem with bats - they are protected, of course, so nothing can be done to risk injuring them. Apparently, it started when the big house (the Old Rectory, in fact) next to the church caught fire. The bats had lived in the attics and, displaced, they moved into the church. They hadn't lived at the Old Rectory that long, in fact. A barn in the next field had been converted into a house. It seems that this left the bats homeless, until they found a new place to live...

There are a lot of bats about here, and I like them very much. Occasionally, one will get into the house. Of course, they can avoid you and there's no risk of being divebombed, but they are very small and impossible to catch and creep into the tiniest of cracks behind furniture, so it's hard to get it out again.

Anyway, about the bats in churches. One person said they had found the answer. They left the lights on overnight for a few weeks. This didn't harm the bats, but they didn't like it much, so they moved out. Once they had found somewhere else to live, the lights could be left off again.

Report back on the owls. A startled tawny owl flew out, but it was just sleeping there rather than nesting. There are pellets around, so it's evidently a regular roost. They were quite encouraged by this, as it's the first owl they have come across today after a morning of box-visiting.

Unforgettable, that's what Z ... isn't

I met a woman a couple of months ago - she was charming and friendly but quite the biggest fact-dropper I've ever met. In a few minutes, and quite irrelevantly to our conversation, she had let me know the origin of her surname (far posher and more ancient than it sounded), that she was not only a Doctor but a retired hospital consultant and that she found it 'psychologically interesting' when people she knew came across her serving coffee (in her capacity as a volunteer) as they were so startled to see her out of her social milieu and working in a servile capacity.

I met her again a few days ago and this time she showed me her late husband's medals (she just happened to have them on her) and told me that he had spoken six languages, dropped into the conversation that her car had a 3.2 litre engine and referred to another friend as Dr *John Smith* ... PHD she added.

The harder she tried, the more I became fond of her, in fact, because she seemed really quite needy, though she would be horrified to know that. The first time, I'd been amused - and marked down that she may have been a consultant, but she was not a surgeon or she would have dropped the title "Dr" - surgeons are rather too grand to need such a handle to their name. This time, I wondered why. She is attractive, well-spoken, obviously a 'lady' but maybe, now that she doesn't live in London and doesn't have the status of her job, feels she has something to prove?

Friendly and charming as she was, she showed no sign of recognising me, however. Now, whoever would forget me?

Z takes control. Ish.

Yes, well, I've sort of taken control. The coffee morning is over and it went well - I explained about the missing half of the present and there's another fortnight and a bit before the next deadline, so we'll see how that goes. And I took along my computer (yes, it was vastly admired - a Mac knows how to show itself off [it has a brighter display than a PC, which is highly impressive]) and there was a small crowd, which changed so that everyone saw it, of people to see my pictures of Madrid, Segovia and the rest - I hadn't actually planned on that or I'd have taken out the duff ones - and then they noticed the L'toft, so i showed them those (from the last sale) as well, which was Good Advertising. So I came through that all right.

I went home via Waitrose and bought, not only splendid biscuits for Tuesday, but also a couple of fine tarts, which - what the hell? - can form the basis for Tuesday's puddings with strawberries and, if I get around to it, meringues and (less likely) crème brulée. I've an abundance of slightly overgrown asparagus, so it'll probably be soup for a first course, although I'd like to do a risotto, but I've never tried the sort where you part cook it and then leave it for a while before finishing and I wouldn't want to balls it up. I haven't decided on the main course yet; it rather depends on Monday's weather forecast. Actually, the fishmonger calls on a Monday morning - I wonder if he'll have a salmon? That could work. Easy to cook in the bottom oven and can do for indoors or out. Anyway, it'll be fine (do you know, if your right hand is slightly misplaced when you touchtype, fine turns into fube?). Having decided to cheat on puds, I had to buy lemons from Al for Proper Lemonade, because - well, you know, just because (several people will be driving, so will be circumspect with the wine).

The clarinet practise is doing well, except that the inside of my bottom lip is awfully sore. The accepted treatment is padding it with cigarette paper, but it still hurts after a few minutes; never mind. I've tomorrow to get through (when I'm discussing what to play with the bride and groom) and then I can pace myself for Saturday. I've admitted my complete unpreparedness to several people (not including my family ... oh, hi, Wink and Weeza) and they assured me I'll get through. Well, they had to, didn't they? They are good friends and i trust them to be right.

Still having a difficulty eating. A proper breakfast - yes, dry toast and plain yoghurt is my normal breakfast, but lunch was 6 corncakes - like ricecakes but made, believe it or not, out of maize. Like squashed crisp salty popcorn. 22 calories each. Dinner I got put off, abruptly (look, I'm not criticising the Sage, but it was his fault), and so have not eaten much of, but one makes up with plenty of Chianti. Yes.

Z is bluffing and has been called

Yes, all those plates are all wobbling and one of them has dropped, but that's not actually my fault because it was mail order and was supposed to arrive two days ago. Tomorrow morning is the deadline and I don't think it'll arrive before I have to leave. Fortunately, it wasn't the only present and I'll get flowers as well - and oh blimey, I wonder where I put the card we all signed? I may know - that'll be the next thing to check.

The other plate that's teetering isn't my fault either. You see, we're having a get-together, those of us who went to Madrid last month, and one keen photographer has a film of the whole thing to show us. I only discovered yesterday that he has no apparatus on which to show it. Oh, well done; if he'd said so last week I could have done something about it. I can take along a lap-top, but I certainly don't have a digital projector. The chap who did it last year brought all his own stuff and I assumed he would too. I could take along my computer, I suppose (I presume he has it on disk) as at least that has a decent-sized screen.

Everything else in the next week that's wobbling is my own fault. I airily agreed when my friend asked me to play the music at her wedding - this was months back - and it was decided that I'd play hymns on the organ and the rest of the music on the clarinet. She called in about a month ago, and it was only then that I discovered there are 100 guests. As it's a second wedding for them both and she's a modest sort of lass, I'd sort of thought there wouldn't be many in the congregation. Furthermore, she wanted to leave the choice of music to me, though we agreed something stately but not traditionally bride-like for the start, some Mozart or similar for the signing of the register and something jazzy as they left. Unfortunately, I've been too busy to make as good preparations as I'd have liked and it's only been in the last few days that it's been coming together.

She's coming round on Sunday to approve the choices. I've chosen a trumpet voluntary for her entrance, which I can play on the clarinet or organ and I'll have to discuss the Mozart with her. You see, classical music was rarely written for solo clarinet and so there are always bits where you're accompanying the rest of the instruments rather than taking the main part; though I have music scored for clarinet and piano, which at least cuts out the orchestra or quintet or whatever. I might play a piano sonata instead, (the Andante from the 15th Sonata) which sounds all right with just the treble part being played. For their exit, I've gone with a rumba and a samba, and have a few jazz and blues numbers to finish. But I've not practised as much as I should have - it's not the notes, it's the lip muscles and stamina that need building up.

And then on Tuesday I've got a committee meeting here, and as it's the last before September, I've said I'll do lunch; only trouble is I'm chairing the meeting and so can't keep nipping out to the kitchen to do things. There will be 12 of us - yes, you might say, do cold, with salads; and I might, but I've still got to prepare the food. And do a pudding. I think they'll rather anticipate three courses, actually. It's pushing it to get 12 round the dining table, so I'd hoped to have lunch in the garden, but the forecast is rain - though who knows, those who decide these things might change their minds and decide there will be summer after all.

I've also got a couple of reports for the newsletter and the rota for the church to do before Sunday. And I'm helping at the school on Monday afternoon and then have the children as Dilly is working, and the rest of the week is normal stuff on the whole - there will be time to practise the music which is the only thing that really matters. I can't dampen a wedding, it's got to be good.

I've still got loads to plant out in the kitchen garden. As there was a frost a couple of weeks ago - it caught 4 courgette plants and a few french beans, I held back a bit but now I've got a load of stuff that must go in very soon. Preferably before Tuesday. One person will check out the garden - I have pinched out all the side shoots on the tomatoes in preparation - so it has to be a whole lot readier than it is. Last year, another one opened the door to my study, just to see if it's as undisciplined as I say it is. It was. He chuckled. I called him a bastard. I never swear at people usually (I swear, but not at people) but I thought it was rude.

None of it is out of the way really, but unfortunately I seem to have sort of stopped eating and sleeping a bit, which is making me tenser than usual.

Oh damn. Coffee and the best biscuits on Tuesday as well. I'll have to come home via Waitrose tomorrow.

Update, dinner having been eaten
Okay, it was a Chinese whisper thing, the person with the pictures had never expected to run a slideshow, so it isn't his fault, and the person who thought he was is Perfect and I'm not blaming her because I love her. I'll take along a laptop *cough*, I'll have to borrow Dilly's as Ro is away tonight - Dilly is out for the evening so I'll ask Al instead, because Dilly is the sort of lovely person who won't mind, because someone else has got a slideshow but I knew in the first place that she didn't have equipment.

It's amazing, how talking to people and getting things straight makes one feel less tense. Also, eating dinner. I only had a slice of dry toast and a few - half a dozen - cashew nuts all day, and it wasn't enough but I couldn't eat. Fillet steak, pasta, carrots, broccoli and asparagus, and a forbidden Chelsea bun, and a couple of glasses of wine; maybe a nectarine in a while and I feel slightly as if I shouldn't have had all that, but I'd be hungry later if not.

Okay, back to work. And then I'll play the clarinet again. Apparently, I bewildered Al and Dilly last night. They thought one of the children's musical toys must have been left on and were kept awake as I played until midnight!

Love and all our good wishes to Jonathan

Back last July, I mentioned pals of mine, Jonathan and James, and pointed you in their direction on MySpace - as then, I won't do it as a link as I don't want to be tracked back. It's here - http://www.myspace.com/bloodonthemind

I mention it because Johnny had a horrible accident on his farm last week and is in hospital. Bailer twine caught both round his foot and around the wheel of the tractor he was driving. No, I'm not sure exactly how it happened either, but he's not the sort to be careless. He stopped instantly, but had to reverse the tractor to release himself before phoning for help. An air ambulance arrived and he was at the N&N hospital five minutes after they took off again.

They - his parents and the three boys - are a lovely family and he's a great bloke. The Sage and I haven't been sleeping too well for the past few nights, thinking about him. His foot was sliced off, virtually, at the instep - every bone was broken and it was only held on by a couple of tendons. They've kept his little toe, as long as there isn't any infection, but the rest couldn't be saved.

Anyway, why I'm writing this is because I had a bit of a go at aspects of medical practice last week and, though it wasn't directed against the NHS at all, I thought it only fair to give another side of the matter, which is that this is where the Health Service absolutely shines. Money simply couldn't buy better care than he will receive.

Update, Friday
We've left messages, but not spoken to the family until now, but the Sage spoke to his mother this morning. He's still in great pain and has to be in isolation because of the risk of infection. His parents and girlfriend are allowed to visit, but no one else. As you can imagine, they are distraught and exhausted - it's a 50 mile round trip to the hospital every day. There's still the dairy farm to run and this is the busiest time of the year on the land too - at least all the cows are out of doors and there's plenty of grass, so they don't need feeding, but they do need to be milked. Three other men work for them and they are rallying round, and one of them is doing the driving to and from the hospital to spare them as much as possible.

Johnny is longing to be out of isolation and in a ward, for some company, but it won't be possible for a while. He has various gigs booked for the summer and is still hoping to be able to do some of them - don't know how likely that is, but the thought is encouraging him anyway.

Thank you all for your messages - when he's better and I see him again, I'll tell him.

Z is nice?

Just when I become all ponderous - HDWK gives me this! Thank you, dearest.

Or possibly a precursor to regular power cuts

So it wasn't the weather. It was the power stations. S1zewe11 tripped out and then so did various others. Good old Blair - he didn't want to risk his early popularity by making decisions about building power stations to replace old ones, so he didn't decide at all, until he was left without a choice. I'm not sure if anything has actually been built yet, though announcements have been made; and replacements take about a decade to complete and in the meantime our old stations are gradually becoming less able to cope. Still within capacity, but there's not much spare and a breakdown can have wide-ranging consequences - that is, a knock-on effect.

Wind turbines? - well, we're not exactly cracking on with building them either, and few people want them anywhere near. Besides, the amount of electricity they generate in practice is always less than is forecast, the weather has to be just right - no wind and they don't turn, too much and they have to be switched off - and they are quite high-maintenance. Building them offshore seems to be a good idea, but they are more expensive to build and maintain - oh, did I mention that wind-generated electricity is more expensive than that generated by power stations? You wouldn't think it, would you? And, of course, you can't store the energy. It's for immediate use; which takes pressure off the power stations at the time, but they have to be on standby for when they're needed.

We may say that we are careful about the electricity we use as individuals, but that's only in comparison with what we used a few years ago. Do you remember the days of round-pin plugs? Your house was probably rewired sometime in the 1960s to replace them. Before that, we could only have a few appliances on at a time - you might be able to listen to the radio while doing the ironing, but if someone turned on a hairdrier upstairs, the fuse would go and you'd have to go and mend it. And most houses weren't heated upstairs. And rooms had one light dangling from the middle of the ceiling. None of this ambient lighting, with or without low energy bulbs. We all used to cluster together in one room in the evenings, but now we wander off to our various rooms, watching television, playing on games consoles, using computers; often all at the same time. Everyone has fridges and freezers; so we should, but forty years ago most people had a small frozen-food compartment at the top of the fridge, and twenty years before that, few houses even had a refrigerator. Energy efficient appliances still use more than none at all.

Not that I'm knocking the individual. What about shops and offices? All lit up, they are. You're met by a wall of heat in winter and air-con in summer. Everyone can wear light sleeveless clothes all year round and be comfortable. Supermarkets have whole rows of open fridges and freezers. Computers may be turned off now in offices at night, but every one is going all day.

I suspect we'll muddle through, most of the time, and have no real idea what a close call it will have been, and the power stations will be renewed in time. And in the meantime, those of us who carefully boil just enough water at a time and don't leave appliances on standby at night and turn down the heating by a degree or two might make an iota of difference - who knows, that might be the final straw that won't break the camel's back? Or we can buy in electricity from the Continent. Mm, that'll be expensive. They've not been quite so squeamish about how to generate power in the past though, so at least they'll have it to sell.

A pre-emptive power cut

I see it now. There are psychics at the electricity company and they decided to get some of the power cuts over and done with before the bad weather came. I am awfully impressed. Mind you, the storm came in the middle of the night, when a power cut wouldn't have mattered much, whereas it was quite inconvenient yesterday, but I am too struck by the efficiency to complain.

It was an impressive storm, too. There was no wind and torrential rain fell straight down, the thunder rolled on and on and the lightning hurt my eyes, even when they were shut. I knew I should get up and check that there was no water coming in the house, but the storm had woken me from a deep 3.30 sleep and I hadn't the willpower. It all seems all right now, although I haven't investigated outside much.

Rings on his fingers?

"What are we having for dinner?" enquired Ro, coming to have a look. "Ah, fish fingers." "Goujons" I intoned nasally. "That's right, thick fish fingers" "Goujons" I insisted. "I haven't spent half an hour grating bread and egg-and-breadcrumbing fillets of fish for them to be called fish fingers." "Yeah, but they are," he said, wandering out of the room.

Ten minutes later, eating dinner, he said "What's the fish?" "Sea bass". "Hm, could tell they were a cut above. Very fine texture and flavour." "Line caught" I insised. "Bit of a waste to make fish fingers, but they're very good."

We had a power cut this morning and I rang the electricity board to find out what the fault was. The recorded voice told me that there were numerous faults in the area because of the extreme weather conditions. I stared out at the warm, humid, still air, wondering what exactly constituted an extreme weather condition. Haze just doesn't seem to do it.

When I was in town, I greeted the mother of an old school friend of Ro's and asked after the family. "Chris is getting married next year," she said brightly. Blimey. He's only a year older than Ro. I told him, later. His reaction was much the same. Mind you, one of his school friends, James, got married a couple of years ago.

Getting over it

I blame the Huge Lorry. This one. It was the interview he gave when he said that he first realised that he was depressed when he was spending a day stock-car racing and realised that, while everyone else was excited, he was bored. He also said that he didn't look forward to the future. Having a medical background, he recognised the symptoms and promptly checked himself in with a psychotherapist.

'Nonsense', I thought. 'Stock-car racing, how pointless, I'd be bored too and I can't even bear to contemplate the future, and I'm not depressed.... Oh."

I worried about it after that. My mind dwelt on it, and I wished I hadn't read the article. I concluded that I didn't know whether I would be diagnosed as depressed or not (looking back, I would have been, but that doesn't mean I'd have been any the better for such a description), but I didn't see that it mattered, as I was quite happy in my pessimism, I felt safer if I lived in the present, neither looking forward nor back, and I couldn't be bothered to talk about it with a stranger. I'd talked things through with family and friends and I'd rather just get on with what I had to do and not make a fuss, because the thought of that was stressful in itself.

What I did do was make sure I enjoyed every little thing that I could. Although I didn't, for quite some years, care at all if I lived or died, I might as well take pleasure in things while I was here. And I made every effort not to become upset by small problems, although I found this very hard for a long time. Anything at all - or sometimes nothing at all - might send me into a feeling of misery and despair that would last for several days. I never told anyone as I could function quite well and the men I lived with were not particularly observant or intuitive and were not likely to notice if I was quiet and distant for a bit.

What put me right was time and being very kind to myself. Now, my feelings were caused by events and general stress. I'm not depressive by nature and I don't suffer from a depressive illness. I'm not suggesting for one minute that other people, necessarily, would or should cope as I did. I'm talking about me and me only and, as I said yesterday, I had a lot of support and a generally happy family life which gave me every opportunity to recover from the feelings that had taken quite some years to build up.

What I would not have done, by the way, was take on an acting role as a depressed maverick, addicted to painkillers, with an abrasive personality. That would have made me worse. Being frivolous, cheerful and hooting with laughter every time a chap pinched my bum did me much more good in the long run. So, also, was doing quite a lot of voluntary work. It made me focus on others and not feel sorry for myself.

I've been fine for nearly two years. I can contemplate old age and no longer want to not reach it. I can be upset, indignant, angry, though I'm none of these things all that often because I am so ... oh gosh, hostage to fortune alert ... happy. I know of course that all good things could come to an end this very minute, but that makes me all the keener to appreciate them while I have them.

This was meant to be a precursor to another post, but it became too long. I also think I've said too much about myself, but there we go.

Z is not depressed - but has friends who are

I have a friend who is strong, capable, a successful business-woman who, in partnership with her husband, runs a stressful business which, by its nature, means that one or other of them is on call at all times. Whatever the occasion, they might have to leave or make a phone call to ensure that someone deals with a situation that has arisen. On top of this, she has an elderly, frail and demanding mother, to whom she is devoted, but who can infuriate her. She also does voluntary work that involves her in heavy responsibilities, both for people and for finance.

What annoyed me last Sunday was when she told me that she just can't kick the heavy dose of anti-depressants that her doctor put her on last autumn.

I know too many people in this situation. What they should be told is that they are wonderful. Fabulous. They have coped with pressure that many people would find unendurable. They may have had traumas in their past that many of us cannot imagine having to deal with. They reach the end of their tether and this is not only understandable, but inevitable. The mind and body are not supposed to be able to endure the unendurable; sometimes we crack but, because of the nature of the pressures we are under today, this cannot be admitted. So they go to the doctor, say that they can't sleep, they cry, they lose their temper, they are losing (or gaining) weight, they have a constant headache, irritable bowels, aches and pains, stiff jaws through constant teeth-grinding, and what are they told? They are depressed and the way to deal with this is with anti-depressants.

These can help, in the short term. But they deal with the symptoms, not the problems. And, a few months later, they say that the sleepless nights and all the other problems are still there, the pills don't really help any more, but they can't do without them. If they try, in less tense times, to cut down, the anxieties kick in again.

My friend has taken steps to lessen her and her husband's work-loads, although the effects of this will not really come through for a few more months - and they acted more because of the physical effect on his health than the mental ones on hers - but in the meantime, she thinks she is a failure because she still feels that she can't cope and now she's hooked on powerful mind-altering drugs to boot.

I met a friend in town a while ago and we went for coffee. She moved house last year and she told me how much she is enjoying life in her retirement with her daughters nearby and with her grandchildren in close contact. "Still on the happy pills, mind you," she said. "One day I'll manage to get off them." Now, I know when she started taking them. It was years ago, when her last marriage broke up. Since then, she has put her life together and done it very well. But she can't kick the pills, even though she is happy and has a tranquil life now.

I know any number of people in this situation, and some of those are you, whose blogs I read, and whom I admire hugely. And I don't blame you if you need help, and I truly sympathise if you suffer from depression or mental illness, and I know that sometimes there is too much to bear and you can't offload work, anxiety and grief, and that drugs, properly prescribed for good reasons, can help.

But.
1 - I believe that doctors are still too ready to prescribe them. Some people need to be told, in the first instance, that their health should come first and that they need to cut down and slow down. They are not depressed because they are ill, but they are ill and depressed because they are overworked and overstressed. They might need some medicinal help in the short term, but it is more important to treat the cause than the symptoms.
2 - I become very upset when these people, however hard they try to cope with the shit that hits them at every point, bewail their inability to do so. Of course they can't. They are not meant to. They are not inadequate, they are normal. What sort of fool sleeps calmly through their bankruptcy, or their parent's terminal illness or impossible demands on their capabilities and emotions? When you are going through an awful time, your body reacts, however hard your brain tries to compensate.
3 - We expect and are expected to 'get over it' far too quickly. I think part of the blame lies with the soaps and similar fiction. A few weeks at most after a traumatic death or disaster, the community "comes to terms" with the losses, because the pressures of the storyline dictates that it can't keep harking back. And so we think we should be the same. We're not allowed to mourn, we're given a few weeks and then expected to snap back to normal. Life isn't like that. I remember a friend of mine, whose husband died at the age of 48, telling me that the second year was worse than the first and that she only started to cautiously regain her equilibrium towards the end of the third year. I know that it took me (in retrospect) three years and three months to recover from the strain of looking after my mother, her death and a very difficult situation in one of my voluntary jobs that I had dealt with very capably at the time. And I had a supportive family, enough money and fundamental security, which many people don't have.

I'm not saying that depression is not real - it is. And I'm not saying that no one should need medical assistance if it's caused by 'events' rather than a mental ailment. Actually, I've lost track of a conclusion and I don't think I know enough to come to one - just that doctors should look for causes, not just symptoms, and that we should all look at ourselves without judgment and with kindness. And I'm not criticising anyone who can't cope or who takes pills, just saying that one shouldn't look to them to make things better if they aren't.

From 10 to 3

It's very quiet. Weeza and Phil were due to catch the 4.17 train from Diss, so Wink dropped them off on her way back home. They all need some weekend time for home-based stuff, so decided not to stay for the Bank Holiday Monday. Still, we've had fun and it was lovely that we were all able to spend some time together. Glad also that we took full advantage of the sunshine yesterday, as it's back to normal English bank holiday weather today; chilly and wet.

Taking photos has been a recent enthusiasm for me; we have never bothered much about recording events in words or pictures and so, although there are photographs of the day we got married, they were only in an album of my mother-in-law's and loose in a drawer belonging to my mother, and I've rarely seen them. We did look at them when sorting out my mother's stuff after she died, and I think they've dated rather less than many wedding photos, largely because we made no attempt to be modish in the first place. The Sage has worn exactly the same clothes all his life, so he doesn't date and is occasionally in fashion, and I looked young in my yellow and white dress, discreetly mini, which I bought for £5 for our wedding, and the long, black and white checked, simple cotton frock I wore for the party three months later - which cost more, probably £15 or so. The Sage has never owned a kipper tie in his life, nor any garment made of velvet, corduroy or denim. Nor suede shoes, nor trainers, nor a Barbour (waxed jacket). He does carry a man-bag, but it is a leather Gladstone bag, as used by a Victorian doctor, He has two in fact, one of them half-sized. I envy him this one, and have often suggested that he give it to me but, since he never says 'no' to me but has no intention of relinquishing it, he simply doesn't hear me.

Thirty-five years!!(!)

Morning
Today is our wedding anniversary.

Off to buy more champagne... laters, darlings.

Night
You know, my sister only arrived home from Italy last night and she leapt straight in her car this morning to get here, from the far side of Stonehenge, in time for lunch. Weeza (El seems to have changed her name) and Phil came by train and Dilly was teaching this morning in Diss, so was able to pick them up from the station. Al didn't arrive home until 7 pm after the busiest day of the year so far and then had to go back after dinner to finish tidying the shop.

The Sage and Phil cooked (on the barbecue), Dilly made the salads and I made Queen of Puddings for old times' sake (the Sage's mother used to make it and Weeza particularly liked it as a child). Squiffany and Pugsley were charming and exuberant and went to bed late, after choosing several books to have read to them; Squiffany's by Weeza and Pugsley by me. Squiff has discovered Beatrix Potter and Pugsley's choices included Julia Donaldson and Alan Ahlberg.

The Sage and I didn't exchange presents - we have each other already.

I'd send him my love, but he won't read this, so I'll go and tell him instead. Goodnight.

Doctors and nurses

I've always been pretty lucky and haven't had to spend much time in hospital, so I haven't had much experience, but a fair bit of what I've observed or experienced has been quite negative. Most, of course, is more or less neutral, and I'm not getting at people in a demanding job, but actually I think that one's behaviour influences how one reacts, so if a person behaves pleasantly and politely they will feel better about themself and what they do.

When I had El, I had a private obstetrician. Nothing too good for his darling, said the Sage. Mr B, the Obs, was charming. Far too ready to intervene, but couldn't have been more kind or considerate. Ten years later, blimey, NHS is quite good enough, I had the same consultant. I was a slab of meat as far as he was concerned. He'd forgotten me, of course, and he couldn't care less.

I said the other day that I woke up in the early hours with contractions, that continued for the rest of the night. It so happened that I was due a routine check-up that morning, so I asked the Sage to take me and took a suitcase, in case I was packed off to hospital. We waited ages, don't know why, no one explained or apologised to all us heavily pregnant women, some of us trying to placate toddlers. Finally, I went in, greeted Mr B, who didn't bother to greet me, told him I reckoned I was in labour as, although it was still fairly early, I'd never had a false alarm before. He grunted and said he'd examine me. It hurt. He didn't reply to what I'd said but told me to make an appointment for a fortnight hence. When, later the same day, I was in hospital I wondered if he'd remember me if he made his rounds ... but he didn't. I had two lovely midwives and mercifully didn't see a doctor.

Back in those days, the whole thing about birth plans was just coming in and I was asked if I had any particular wishes when I went for my first hospital appointment. I asked if I could keep the baby in the ward with me, as my first one had been bottle-fed against my wishes that first night. I was assured that was fine and it was noted. So, back in the ward and the Sage had left and I was settling down for the night. The nurse started to wheel out the cot and I told her that I wanted to keep him. She said that was out of the question. I said that I'd asked particularly and was told there would be no problem. It was July, there was no question that he needed a warmer room. She said that he'd make a noise and keep everyone awake. I looked round the empty room. She said that it wouldn't be later (indeed it wasn't. Squeaky beds were wheeled in all night and some of the new mothers were just coming off their birth drugs and groaning loudly; I literally didn't sleep a wink). I said, however, that it was a fair point and if we were too noisy then he could be taken away (new born babies are pretty tired and just want to sleep). Then she said "I can just take him away, you know, and you can't stop me." "Indeed I can't," I said, "all I can do is phone my husband first thing tomorrow morning and ask him to fetch me and tell him why." She snuffled bad-temperedly and stalked away, which rather disgusted me, as it proved what a bully she was, but without any backbone. Anyway, I didn't let him out of my sight and we left the next day anyway.

My mother had several stays in hospital because, after a successful hip replacement, she had a bad fall and it dislocated. Over the next seven years, it spontaneously dislocated six more times. It was made clear that it was assumed that she had been careless or even attention-seeking and was rather wasting medical time in demanding so much attention by not being able to get out of bed for a couple of days after it had been reset. As time went on and her health deteriorated, in part because of the stress of constant fear of a dislocated hip, she became quite difficult and I saw her being treated more and more as a nuisance. Furthermore, the consultant who had been delightful, charming and considerate when she saw him privately (she was entitled to her hip operation under her insurance) couldn't care less when she was an emergency patient under the NHS. Finally, several years after I said I reckoned her hip was damaged and should be pinned, she agreed with me and the same man X-rayed her from a different angle. Ah. Her replacement hip had been damaged in the original fall and was cracked; it didn't show in an X-ray from the side, which was all he'd done after each dislocation. He'd never questioned why it dislocated, but assumed it was her fault. No question of an explanation or apology of course, but at least she got a new hip, which gave no trouble in the final two years of her life. However, the only kindness she ever received in hospital under the NHS was when her cancer was diagnosed; those nurses (mostly Filipinos) and young doctors were lovely.

A few years ago, I took an old friend to visit her husband in hospital. He had had a stroke some years before and had completely lost the use of his left arm and hand. He was in bed and couldn't move much. We chatted for a while, and then he said that he needed a bedpan urgently. A nurse was with a patient across the room and we asked her for a bedpan and help. I saw her lips tighten as she said that she'd come when she had finished. She tucked the patient in, slowly. I saw her slow down. "I need to pee!" said Frank anxiously, "I can't wait". "When he needs to go, he can't wait," agreed his wife. The nurse looked irritated. "It's too late, I've done it," said poor Frank. So, for her petty meanness - she was doing nothing that couldn't wait for a couple of minutes - she had to wash him, change him, change the bed - again, I was disgusted.

A few weeks ago, I met a friend in town. She is nursing her father through the final stages of cancer, and he has been on morphine for months. He had to spend a night in hospital to have a stent replaced. She ensured it was on his notes that his morphine must be renewed and told the nurses in hospital. The next day, he was returned to the local hospital in great pain and vomiting from morphine deprivation, because he is, of course, addicted as well as dependent. They hadn't bothered to replace his morphine patch.

I could go on - although, as I say, I haven't spent much time in hospitals. This is not lack of money or equipment (though don't get me started on lack of cleanliness, I've seen too many nurses and doctors not wash their hands or remonstrate with dirty visitors; I trust there is considerable improvement in this regard over the last year or two) and it isn't even an indication of low morale, judging by the chat and laughter often coming from the nurses' station. Most nurses are fine - the ones who behave professionally and kindly are the norm of course - but how are the others allowed to get away with it? They must so hate their jobs, but I am convinced that if they behaved better then they would have more self-respect and enjoy their work more. And the trouble is that one bad experience colours your whole view. You remember the outstandingly good and the bad, not the unremarkably competent.

First Baby

Well, the first shall be last and the last shall be first, or something - is that a quotation? And El is my first child and only daughter. She's admitted that, when I was expecting the third, that she was hoping for another brother...to keep her status! That's my girl - I'd have been rather horrified if my mother had had another child to supplant me. As it is, Ro was a most loved little boy by both his older siblings. I asked him, a couple of years ago, if he remembered ever having a row with either of them; and he couldn't.

Anyway, I was not all that well during my first pregnancy. Nowadays, the fashion is against offering iron supplements routinely; then we were all dished out an iron and a folic acid tablet daily. It wasn't enough for me, and I became more and more anaemic. This made me exhausted and depressed - the Sage must have reckoned that married life wasn't all he had hoped for. Eventually, after my iron rations (see what I did there?) had been upped, it was decided that I should have iron injections. Straight into the buttock, darlings, alternative side each week and, hard as the nurse rubbed it in, after a few weeks I had brown stains each side of my bum, which lasted for several years. I had 20 of these injections, after which I felt considerably better.

The fashion for starting babies off varies as time goes by; my obstetrician was rather keen on intervention and decreed that the baby should be induced at a week over the expected date. Now, of course, I'd question that, but I was only 20 and had been pregnant for 41 weeks, which seemed rather a long time, and I didn't object. I was put on a hormone drip and not allowed to move. Now, in labour, the most painful thing to do is to lie on your back and it's boring and uncomfortable in any case after a few hours. When, unable to resist, I shifted slightly, the needle did too and labour started to subside until they realised and reinserted it. Eventually, they broke the waters, and that started things off extremely abruptly and painfully. Unasked, I was given a pethidine injection, which made me woozy without diminishing the pain by much.

Eventually, the obstetrician decided that I was all right for a couple of hours and left for his dinner. Shortly afterwards, El (that's my girl!) decided that the time was right to put in an appearance and he was sent for and returned. I rather wish he hadn't, because he, obviously concerned that he was not demonstrating sufficient professional expertise to earn his fat fee, performed an episiotomy - just in case I tore, he explained. It's since been decided that most tears heal better than most cuts. I didn't tear or need a cut in subsequent births, incidently.

Anyway, El was born at 8.30, weighing 6 1/2 lbs. She was not very large, but then nor was I - I'd only gained a stone and a half and weighed 10 stone, even though I had a 40 inch waist!

She was washed, given briefly to me and then whisked away to the nursery. I'd been asked 'breast or bottle?' and they seemed pleased that I wanted to feed her myself, but this was so rare that none of the nurses actually knew anything about it, so her first meal, before I saw her the next morning, was a bottle feed. She wasn't that bothered about suckling, so I was given bottles of supplementary feed. I can't remember how long I was in hospital, but it was far longer than was good for us. I felt quite helpless; I loved her but was afraid to do much for her myself in case I did it wrong. When my milk suddenly came in, I cried with the pain and discomfort and the baby bounced off these hard and unresponsive protuberances.

Finally, we went home. Now, you may have noticed that I am stubborn and bloody-minded. I did not have bottles or formula; it did not occur to me that we might have to give up on breastfeeding. We had a tearful and uncomfortable day, both of us, but by the end we had both learned how to do it, and we didn't look back.

No, that's not entirely true. They didn't know, either, that breast milk doesn't necessarily keep a baby satisfied for as long as a bottle, so when she cried it didn't occur to me that she might be hungry, only an hour or two after feeding. She and I both were less happy than we could have been in those first weeks. But she was such a darling little girl. Before we decided on a name for her, we called her 'Rosebud' because of her dear little lips. I used to hold her for ages when she was asleep, because I couldn't bear to put her in her cot.

Is it apparent that I don't always think that much of the medical world? I've observed it so many times, that both nurses and doctors think that you have to be ill to be in hospital. They want to intervene, even if you are having a healthy normal birth and simply need encouragement, kindness and some space. It's still the same; I saw it with Dilly after her first baby was born, when they kept making her try to feed the baby, not believing her when she said that Squiffany had already been fed; just because they hadn't seen it for themselves.

Sorry to sound so negative here, but honestly, it's a good job that El and I are both tough. We went through a lot together, in those early days!

Back in time again, to 1976

Okay, back in time a few more years, while I'm in the mood. Al was born at home: that is, the family home where I grew up. I'd had a chat with my family doctor, whom I'd known for years, and he was up for it - in the 1970s, not many women went for home births and I think he was really pleased.

My mother remarried in February; my sister and I were very fond of our stepfather and welcomed him into the family. His name was Wilf Edwards; he was Technical Director of Brooke Marine, a highly-respected shipbuilding firm in Oulton Broad. He was a talented and able engineer, capable of designing a ship from scratch. I'll say more about him one day, but I won't digress further now, except to say that he was thrilled to have married into a family who loved him.

The baby was due on 8th April. On the 2nd, I felt some twinges. I've never felt those preparatory, Braxton Hicks, contractions. Every time I've had a contraction, it has been the precursor to labour and birth. I drove over to my mum's house with my suitcase and my daughter, who was a couple of days short of her second birthday, and invited ourselves to stay. The room she had prepared had been my father's night nursery (yes, there was a day nursery too, it was that kind of house) and had a single bed, convenient for attendants to a home birth.

During the afternoon, the local chemist's van drew up. "Here's the oxygen cylinder Dr L ordered" said the assistant cheerfully. I attempted to help her wheel it in. "Better not," she chortled, "You're not due for another week, don't want to bring the baby on early!" I didn't tell her I'd been in labour for a few hours.

At some point during the day, my mother decided to bang in a stray nail in the passageway right outside my bedroom (the Sage, of course, was given the best guest bedroom) and it hit a water pipe. I have no idea how that was resolved, I had other fish to fry.

My midwife was married to the local Methodist minister. She was sweet and very capable. She arrived later in the afternoon, not long before the doctor.

I kept trotting around as long as possible - honestly, the worst thing to do is to lie on your back in bed. If you're tired, lie on your side. Walk if you can. When, eventually, I had to lie down, they produced a cylinder of gas and air. I hated it. It was cold and distracting; I wasn't enjoying the whole experience but I was coping and I pretended to breathe it in (for I am a polite Z) but I kept the nose-and-mouthpiece slightly away from me so that I didn't take anything in. It wasn't that long after that Al was born. It was the best thing I've ever experienced and, if I say that it gave me a bond with him that I've never had with anyone else, a) that's a fact; b) he doesn't know it for I've never told him c) it doesn't mean I love him more than the others and d) I consciously have diminished its memory. He's Dilly's now, and I don't want my love for any of my children to make me possessive.

He wanted to suckle at once, and I knew at once that I didn't want this to be my final baby, which is an odd thing to decide within ten minutes of giving birth.

The Sage was on hand (I told Honey I wouldn't mention this, but hey, it's just to revolt the blokes) with a bucket to receive the afterbirth. I don't know what he did with it; I've never asked.

Al was born about 10.30 pm. The doctor (whom I called Uncle Kit; I'd known him since childhood), having done his part, went home - he only lived a couple of roads away; it would have been quicker to come by boat. After everything had been cleared up and sorted out, at midnight, I confessed to hunger. "There's a cold leg of lamb in the fridge" said my ever-reliable mother. "Ooh, yum!" I replied. A few minutes, we were all tucking into sandwiches. I'm not sure that it isn't the best meal I've ever eaten.

During the night, I visited the loo across the landing. I felt very naughty (you're not supposed to get out of bed for 12 hours) but both impressed and surprised that there was no constipation at all, considering the pre-birth enema every woman has the indignity of receiving.

The next morning, I changed El's nappy and kissed her all around her face as usual. I couldn't believe how big she was, compared to her 7 1/2 lb brother. She chuckled and laughed and I loved her and was sad for her, that life would never be quite the same again. It was the day before her second birthday.

Z looks back

I've been sitting here, drinking wine, eating a late supper which mostly is bread and fruit and reading blogs, when it occurred to me that midnight approaches and I've told you nothing about myself. Not today, that is.

I've been thinking about having a baby. Yes, mine...but not now, that'd be a bit icky. It'd be weird. No, about when Ro was born, which is nearly 24 years ago, when I was a youthful 30.

I'd been quietly in labour since about 2 am, so I didn't get much sleep, but it was all right until about 3 in the afternoon, when it changed gear and we rang the hospital half an hour's drive away, called my mum, who came to look after El and Al and drove off. I can still see their little faces gazing after me as we drove away; I wonder if they remember, and what they were thinking?

The roundabout just the other side of Yarmouth Harbour bridge had just been resurfaced, badly, and the car made a strange noise as we drove over it - we thought for a minute we'd got a flat tyre. I was writhing silently in the front seat and the Sage was calm and relaxed, damn him. We arrived and checked in.

"See you later" he said. "I'd better go home and feed the dog."

WHAT?

Okay, I had a bath and all that sort of stuff, and was put in a room on my own. Two midwives came and chatted a bit, but I was fine; done all this before, didn't do pain relief or anything as I really don't like not being in full control of my thoughts....I'd tried pethidine once and I hated it; didn't help and I couldn't concentrate.

Anyway, time went by and as long as I didn't lie on my back, I was fine. After a couple of hours, it changed gear again, so I rang the bell and they decided to take me to the delivery room. I asked if my husband was coming back - they'd rung home, but had no reply. I felt a bit upset, it was hurting and I wanted him.

I was just being helped - lifted, I think - I weighed 10 1/2 stone, several pounds more than in my previous pregnancies, so I was sorry for the nice midwives - onto a trolley when the Sage burst in and put his arms around me.

It didn't hurt any more. Honestly. I felt the pain drain away, and it never got to me again. Ro was born at 8.30 and the midwife said his weight was 3.25 kilograms. "What's that mean?" he said. "Just over 7 lbs," I said. "7 lbs, 2 oz" said the midwife, a few seconds later. Honestly, that was one of the best moments, doing that conversion minutes after giving birth.

A couple of years ago, I found some photos of El and Al, with me and the baby in hospital the next day. They looked so proud. I was all choked up.

Anyway, the point is that it really is mind over matter sometimes. I think this hypnobirthing stuff might work. And if they aren't sure if it'll be enough, then Phil needs to leave the hospital for a couple of hours, saying he'll not be long, get stuck in traffic and get back just in time.

Hypno, hypno, hypno...

On Friday, I had an email from El (also known as Weeza), entitled No jokes about 'opening like a flower'!

I've won a course in hypnobirthing through a - website Good grief!, she said, excitedly. "Oh fabulous - shall we call the baby Omlet?" I wrote back, and there was a pause while I read the website. I was typing again when I had her next email Splendid! The tutor's called Helianthe... !. "I was just that very moment about to email you and say that! Even more spookily, I've just bought some sunflowers* from Al to take to friends tonight" I said. Cosmic & spooky indeed! Or as Pugsley would say, Scary!

My reply was obvious "Can I blog about it? ;-)"

Weeza girlie, she say Yes! Although, apparently, Phil is quite concerned to think it's become public knowledge; that is, in the family. What he would say if he knew I was telling you, I don't like to think. Until now, I've had a good relationship with my son-in-law.

El added My yoga guy tries to get us chanting occasionally and baby flipps out at his Yammmmm mantra. I can't bring myself to do it outloud but I make suitable vibrations in my throat instead and baby goes flippy! Perhaps omlet's the name after all?

Regarding the website, the bit that puzzles me slightly is this - "Returns childbirth to the beautiful, peaceful experience that nature intended". Um, I'm not sure it really ever did. I was woken early on Sunday morning by an awful screeching sound. It was a bird in torment and I leapt to the window and peered out to see if a cat or fox had caught a chicken or pheasant. Then came the cackle of triumphant relief - the egg had been successfully laid.

Anyway, I rather want to try hypnobirthing, but there's an obvious 'however'. Maybe I should learn the techniques in case of a tricky session at the dentist?

*Helianthus is the botanical name for sunflower, from the Greek helios, meaning sun. I rather hope that Helianthe has a sister called Phoebe, which is the moon.