Z is a fuzzy-eyed optimist

Five pots of quince jelly made and four of cotignac. Squiffany, having helped, bore her pot of jelly proudly back home. I'll probably make more as Al still has lots of quinces in the shop - unlike in Mike's neck of the woods, there has been a good crop here. Al says he's never had so many brought in for him to sell.

When I put in my lens this morning, it hurt, so I took it out again, peered to make sure it wasn't back to front, rinsed and put it in again. It still didn't feel quite right, so I refilled the little pot I keep it in and took it with me, in case I needed to take the lens out. I forgot about it during the morning. This afternoon, cycling home, I noticed a child walking along the pavement and looked to see if I knew him and should say 'hello'. My sight was quite fuzzy. Shutting one eye and then the other, I realised that my right eye was blurred, so I must have the lens in back to front after all, I thought. Later, I got the pot out and opened it, ready to put the lens away. There was the lens, where it must have been since I rinsed it. Just as well I hadn't driven today.

Goodness, how I do not scintillate. Sorry. Maybe tomorrow I will entertain you with wit and charm. No, go on, it could happen.

Stocking up

I was given some quinces today, so I cut them up to make cotignac, which is a preserve made by simmering quinces with quartered oranges, taking out the oranges, puréeing the quince and then cooking it again with sugar before bottling it. It's not over-sweet and is good with crème frâiche. I also set about making quince jelly, I left both simmering as I was going out, with instructions to the Sage when to remove them from the stove. He remembered the cotignac but forgot the other quinces simmering in the preserving pan - I don't suppose an extra hour or two will matter. When it had all cooled down, I looked for the jelly bag, which is simply a muslin bag in which one puts fruit to drain out the juice - jelly is jam without the bits. I couldn't find it anywhere. I'm wondering now if it had got so ancient that I threw it out last year. Anyway, the quinces needed to be done - easy enough to make another jelly bag, but I decided to improvise with a ready sewn nylon tube...a stocking. In the first place, I was going to look for a laddered pair of tights and cut off the good leg, but then I couldn't be bothered so got a perfectly good stocking in a not so interesting shade and sacrificed it.

I discovered the advantage of a tights leg when I started to fill the stocking. The opening really isn't quite wide enough. After a few minutes, I picked up the mushy quinces in handfuls and stuffed them in, ending up with using a funnel to hold it open while I poured in the liquid. I hung it up to dry on a convenient hook in a beam in the kitchen, nailed in many years ago for just this purpose and it dangles fatly, dripping tears of quince juice into a bowl. Tomorrow, I'll measure it, add sugar and boil it until it's ready to set.

I do slightly regret the stocking, not being a wasteful sort of a Z, but I wear them less now than I used to, as they really don't go too well with a bicycle. Chilly. And a bit revealing. And I have plenty more pairs for when I'm feeling frivolous.

Weeza came over with Zerlina, who slept most of the afternoon. When she woke, Squiffany and Pugsley had come to call. Squiffany went to give her a kiss and z smiled. Pleased, she bobbed forward again, and z smiled again. Squiffany was entranced and they chatted together for some time. She smiled at me too, but I had to blow raspberries at her to obtain the reaction - the first time, a startled look came to her face and she blinked and frowned before grinning.

Too D*** Hot (we're talking about church, leave out that D word...)

Every year we hold a church service on a Sunday near All Souls Day, for remembrance of loved ones and to comfort the bereaved. Invitations are sent out and it's well supported. People can light candles, and most do. I didn't, myself - it isn't part of my 'thing' - that is, I don't object and I sometimes have, but more because it would sometimes make me stand out not to and that would be unfriendly. It's all part of the 'having been to a Roman Catholic school' thing I suppose; to me, lighting a candle for prayer or in remembrance is a Catholic thing and not mine. I don't mind, it just doesn't mean anything. Today, I skulked at the back and so not lighting up wasn't noticed.

Last winter I never got the church heating quite right (we don't rely on candles). I had actually been given slightly misleading advice, which has now been clarified. So I turned it up full pelt for today and people were almost too warm. I've moderated it slightly now - should keep something in reserve for really cold weather. I also had to alter the time clock for the change to BST. I've no idea how. but I managed to make it think it was Saturday. It took quite some time to persuade it to change again. This is, of course, a Good Thing, because now I understand a bit more about how the system works. Yes, I am a relentless optimist. There is always a silver lining. Well no, actually there isn't - but one can still choose how to react to most situations.

Z prepares to annoy a shop assistant

Ethan is out of special care and doing quite well, considering all. As I said on Friday, he was born with one kidney - the problem with the other one was that it was greatly enlarged, to the extent that the doctors were afraid that it would cease functioning, but this has not happened and he is better. They are doing tests to find out the extent of his physical disabilities and the mental ones will become apparent in due course. This is the syndrome he has been born with - his mother has it and her second child (of four) died from it. Her parents are lovely people who have helped her to be as well and capable as possible and they, like us, were none too pleased that her partner, caring as he is in many ways, put having a large family ahead of her or her babies' health. However, he's born now and she can't have any more, to her parents' relief.

The first rain for ages, today. I need to buy some new boots. My red boots, that I loved, finally fell apart last winter after five years of stalwart service. I'm going to have to be careful as I'm finding comfortable shoes quite difficult to find. It's not the fit but that some shoes that seem fine for the first few minutes make me limp badly after that. Low heels can be worse than high. I haven't worked out quite what the problem is. Today, the narrow 2" heels and pointed toes were fine, the 1" broad heels and rounded toes of yesterday's court shoes weren't, the 1" walking shoes of Friday were very comfortable. I suppose it's the part of my foot that takes the weight. Shoe shops, with their carpeted floors, don't test comfort enough and I've often made mistakes. I suppose I'll have to allow plenty of time and just explain to the assistant that I'll need to stroll around the shop for ten minutes or so.

Thrift, thrift, Horatized (this is a reference to using the vegetable cooking water in the risotto and apologises to Shakespeare and Hamlet)

So, tonight is the Best Night Of The Year, and the only thing that makes it worthwhile not having British Summer Time all year round - I have to say that if there were a referendum on the subject, I would totally* vote for Scottish independence, just so's* the English and Welsh, and very likely the Northern Irish MPs could vote for us not having horrid dark afternoons. Not that they literally bristle** but they feel as if they do. In short, the CLOCKS GO BACK TONIGHT, which means you either have an hour's extra sleep or an hour extra to do fun things on a Sunday. I have not yet made up my mind which.

I went to cut some artichokes for Al to sell - the plants I grew from seed this spring have cropped enthusiastically, though the artichokes are not very large - and observed that there were a few small squashes that had been missed in the general harvest, so I picked them and decided to make a squash risotto. It was not without incident, though nothing untypical of my normal cookery routine.

1 Time for a drink. I open a bottle of sparkling pink wine and pour a glass for Ro and one for me. A few minutes later, the Sage comes in and I wave the bottle at him. He pours himself a glass and goes all convivial. I crack and eat a walnut.

2 " May I help myself?" asks Ro. I am impressed. I haven't drunk mine yet. He refills all three glasses. Moments later, the Sage puts his empty glass down. I am impressed. I crack and eat a couple more walnuts and offer the bag around.

3 I go to the kitchen. I have already grated the squash and chopped the shallots, so I start to cook the latter in butter while I look for the risotto rice. I find all sorts of things in the cupboard, including 2 packets of opened sultanas, 3 opened (better English) packets of couscous, an unopened packet of chamomile and spiced apple tea, which rather made it unnecessary that I bought another one the other day, and various other things I didn't know I had. Finally, I looked in another cupboard and found two packets of arborio rice, both opened and part-used, which weren't the unopened pack I noticed the other day, but hey ho.

4 I put them both into the slightly browner than intended shallots, stirred them and went to look for the dry Martini I usually use in risotto. I remembered it had all been used. I used vodka instead, as otherwise I'd have had to have used my remaining half glass of wine.

5 I add the squash and the leftover gravy from the other night's chicken. It wasn't thickened; just meat'n'onion juices, sherry and veggie cooking liquid plus a spoonful of vegetable stock powder so that wasn't peculiar. I continue to add hot vegetable stock.

6 The Sage comes in. "I peeled the sprouts" he said helpfully. Risotto and sprouts. Hm. Pfft. Fine. I thanked him and gathered him into my arms for a kiss. "You smell smoky" I said approvingly. I actually said "Yoo is smokayyy", which makes it clearer that I approved, and I kissed him again. He had been tending a stray bonfire, just to attract my attention. Lapsang Souchong, Laphraoig and kippers/bloaters aren't the only smoky things that appeal to me. I keep him young, you know.

7 Having gone out in the meantime, the Sage comes in again. "Can I help?" he asks, helpfully. "Well, you could stir the risotto," I said, 'but I would just stand here saying 'gosh, you stir a mean risotto, ooh, you are marvellous, yum" because I don't actually have anything else to do." The Sage grinned. "I've time to make a phone call, then?" I agreed that he had. I cooked the sprouts, a few minutes in advance so that I could use the cooking water in the risotto. No waste in this house.

8 Ro came in. "Anything I can do to help?" It seems that the chaps are getting hungry. I'd been grating cheese and I put it in the risotto. "I'll taste it before adding more" I said, passing him a spoon too. "I put in goat's cheese and your father doesn't know he likes goat cheese, and the rest is cheddar." Ro chuckled. I told him that the other night's soup had contained celery. He knew. His father didn't. He thinks he doesn't like celery soup. I added the rest of the cheese, Ro added pepper and dinner was ready. While it was being carried through (TV dinner, darlings, we hadn't lit a fire in the dining room) I opened a bottle of red wine. Well, one bottle of fizz between 3 doesn't quite do it, does it?

9 Eats risotto.

10 Eats second helping of risotto. Decides against second glass of red wine. Relaxes.

*said ironically
**horrid means bristling and is not a synonym for horrible. Read Milton if you don't quite believe me. Or ask Dandelion or Dave, both of whom know Latin.

By the way, it occurs to me that I haven't reminded you of Ro's website recently. It's still here and not all of you have posted pictures yet.

Go for it, dear people. You know it's a fine thing to do.

Z kept score

So, tonight was the Church Quiz. No, there was nothing religious about it, it was just being done as a fundraiser. Judy did it all, the food, the drink, the questions and the organisation of everything. Her husband Brian and I helped set up the room and Brenda did the washing up. Brian and I ran the quiz itself while Judy was busy in the kitchen. She said, not without respect, that I was bossy. Well, I don't think so, but people like to know where they are, don't they? As Sally was leaving, I told her that I'd been called bossy. "What? No! Who said that?" I told her I loved her, and said "Judy." "Judy?"chuckled Sally. "Pot - kettle..."

The interviews went well this morning and, interestingly, we all picked the same candidate but expected the others to pick the other candidate. In fact, they were both good so it was a matter of 'fit' - since we all know the department well, I suppose that it's not so surprising that we chose alike.

Two friends' grandsons were born today - that is, two completely different families and, coincidentally, both little boys have been called Ethan. One of them, I'm sorry to say, is ill. They knew there would be a major problem so he was born by planned Caesarean section as childbirth would have been too much for him. He was born with one kidney and the other one is not fully formed. Positive thoughts for him, please? The other little Ethan is fine and will be home tomorrow. He's the first baby in the family and the first grandson.

Time for food

By the way, that deli where Weeza and I had lunch yesterday is Clark & Ravenscroft in St Gregorys Alley. It's right in the middle of Norwich, only a couple of minutes' walk from the marketplace - if you go down Upper Goat Lane by St Giles car park then it's opposite the church and the little open square. Huge bowl of delicious soup with granary bread, a generous sandwich with proper lettuce, not the prepacked stuff, a pot of tea and a big breakfast cup of good coffee was £9.60 and good value. Most people take out, I should think, as there's not much room to eat in and I suppose that's cheaper as they don't have to charge VAT.

So tonight, Ro approved of his dinner, which was fillets of sea bream. "Straightforward to eat, you see. Delicious and not all those bones. This is a sensible fish." "Not as canny as the herring, surely?" I suggested. "Why would a fish want to be easy to eat?" We debated why a bloater, being exactly the same fish as a kipper, seems more bony (according to Ro). I thought perhaps the splitting before being smoked might dry the bones out and make them easier to lift.

Squiffany stayed for Harvest Lunch at her nursery school today. The children made bread, vegetable soup and apple crumble. When I went to fetch her, she was brandishing a party invitation. In the car, she read it out to me. "Florence and Christian invite you to come to their party because they would really like you to come," she said. "There is a picture of a cake with five candles." I looked later. The invitation was from Mia in fact, but there were indeed five candles - though I suspect Mia will be four. Later, Dilly showed her various times on a clock jigsaw. Up to 3 o'clock, she knew it, after that she counted, but she could do them all. She can write all the letters in her brother's name now, though does them in the wrong order.

I've let this week drift and got nothing done. Tomorrow, I'm interviewing in the morning and helping set up the room for a quiz and supper in the evening. I'm helping with the marking and scoring, not taking part. I'm not doing the cooking either.

Ro likes bananas ...

Ro wonders, a bit grumpily, just why bloaters need all those bones. After all, they taste so good - why does a herring seem to have so many more bones than most other fish do? I have no answer for him. I don't mind bones. The smaller ones, I simply eat. I am more than half dog, after all and have a robust digestion and no qualms about overburdening it.

I finally ventured into Boots in the town today, for the second time. The first occasion, the week it was opened, I was deeply unimpressed, but it wasn't fully stocked then. I wasn't much more pleased this time. The thing I wanted wasn't there and I had to get a lesser substitute and I didn't care for any of the toothbrushes. All I want is a toothbrush with a medium or small head and without irregular bristles, and they didn't have one. Not even the ones costing a ludicrous amount of money were acceptable. I went to the Gay Shopper next door and bought one cheaper than any of them that is fine.

Ooh, apparently Bob in the sweetshop/stationers has found a buyer who has taken it over, stock and all, and the changeover has already happened and I missed it. Bob lives in the same village I do so no doubt I will see him around. I'm glad that the shop will continue at any rate.

Zerlina enjoyed her shopping trip to Norwich and very much appreciates her presents. She was a good girl and cleverly needed changing or feeding when there was a suitable place to do it, so the occasion was not stressful at all. Weeza found a very good little deli for lunch, where she had a smoked duck sandwiich and I had spiced lentil soup and both were delicious and the proprietor was charming. Judging by the name and the fact that they are doing the food for the local launching of a new book next week, we think that she or her partner must be an offspring of the late lamented John Peel.

Z forgets what she meant to call this post

Today's lecture was about German expressionism. It was a subject I knew virtually nothing about beforehand, though I did know some of the pictures illustrated, but I know a little more now and I gave an appreciative (deservedly so) vote of thanks using an interpretation of what I'd learned. Winging it a bit, admittedly.

I was chatting to Georgie afterwards, who works there, though won't for much longer. I told a friend the circumstances of her gaining her new job. "She was headhunted - the hotel where she had her wedding was so struck by her that the owner contacted her afterwards and offered her a job." Pretty impressive, I think. I told Georgie that I'd tell people that a friend of mine had been headhunted at her wedding --- and now I have.

Then I went to spend a couple of hours baby-cuddling. Zerlina is much happier this week - she had some vaccinations last week and was not quite her sunny self for a few days afterwards. Today, she lay on my lap for quite some time, looking at a book. It's a Ladybird book - this one. She really looks at it and enjoys it, concentrating for quite some time. When I put it down for a few minutes to eat lunch, she was not pleased and I had to pick it up again. I've had decades of experience in eating while looking after a baby so holding it up for her didn't stop me. She fell asleep in the end, so I felt I'd done my grandmotherly duty. I'm going over again tomorrow and we're going Shopping! Granny's treat.

Tonight, I was pouring myself a glass of wine and offered one to Ro. He decided against. I did some little bits of cheese on corn cakes and took them through to the drawing room as a pre-prandial snack (yeah, I allow for it in the rest of the food I eat, I'm still losing weight), taking 3 for me and leaving the other 5 for him. I don't eat much cheese now, so what I have is flavoursome and delicious for maximum impact. This week, I've bought a blue goat cheese and a blue sheep cheese (the cheese is blue, not the animal *sigh*) and the piece I cut of sheep cheese was the larger, so was on 6 of the bits of corn cake. After a few minutes, Ro coughed. "I shouldn't have had the stronger cheese last. I think I need a glass of wine to take away the cheesy hit." I poured a glass. Later, I offered him more. "Ooh, all right then, this is nice. Just half a glass."

Oh, by the way, today I had some of that new drizzly Marmite. Sure you don't need butter any more, but where is the flavour? In a blindfold taste test, I wouldn't have known it was Marmite.

Also by the way, I gave a plug for our study day on the rise of modern art. When I looked out to the foyer afterwards, there was a small queue of people buying tickets. Hah.

Z scored 46 out of 50

Weeza rang at 9 o'clock this morning and was surprised that I was still in bed. I can't think why, she knows well how lazy I am and, although I'd been awake early and cuddled my husband and then read a book, I had snuggled down for another nap as I hadn't got any appointments today.

You might think I'd been feeling romantic, but the cuddle was necessary. You see, the Sage had turned on to his stomach and when he does that, he occasionally has a twitch in his leg which makes the knee flex, the lower leg rise and then thwack back on to the mattress. This is maddening, as you can imagine, and the simplest way to stop it (for it seems churlish to wake him) is to drape my limbs over his so that he can't do it. He was very pleased when he woke up and found me and I didn't tell him.

Anyway, by the time Weeza and I had chatted and I'd washed my hair and dressed and then answered a few more phone calls, the morning was half over. This afternoon, I needed to go out to one of the nearby villages, which was actually a bit further away than I'd thought, so I was a bit panty by the time I got back to the shop. Tim was amused. Then it rained. I discovered that my new jacket is, indeed entirely waterproof, but that the hood is a bit big and kept falling over my eyes so I couldn't see where I was going. I had to turn back the cuffs, as it were, for my own safety.

I'm relearning geographical locations. I have never quite got my head round all the present European countries, and am finding it quite hard, so I am starting with the easier option of brushing up on US states. I mostly do know them, but have a strange forgetfulness about a few; notably Idaho, Nebraska and Kansas. I also get Massachusetts confused with Connecticut if I'm not careful and am always surprised how far up Missouri is. Al taught them all to Ro when he was a little boy and had a whole lot of little memory tricks to help him. I never quite knew how they were devised - one example was that Californians enjoy pizza with Oregano (Oregon) on top and then there was something about a nice New Jersey and Delaware/Tupperware, but I didn't know what they were about. I did once say, when learning African countries, that I mixed up Kenya and Uganda - "Kenya's on the Koast" he replied laconically, and also pointed out that all the countries with a Z in them are in the south. He'd not have the patience to be a teacher (it's not the teaching he'd not have patience for but the recording and paperwork) but he is brilliant at it. He had Ro adding and subtracting before he was 3 years old, using flowerpots.

Z is sometimes confused

I'm typing on Dilly's laptop as I'm babysitting this evening, and I realise that I don't know how to drag the window across or make it bigger with one of those little pads, so this is all a bit annoyingly small for me. Oh, hang on, I'm experimenting.

Right, got it. That's better.

The price list is up on our website now, if you're interested. The link is on the sidebar. It was an interesting sale, we've never had so many items reach into the thousands of pounds before. It had a lowering effect on the last lot, which we'd thought would make more than the lower estimate, but there were only a few unsold pieces of Lowestoft, and overall it did extremely well. It could well be that some people thought that their money would be as safe in antiques as anywhere else. We already have nearly the whole of the next sale in April sorted with some fine pieces of china. If you think this is all desperately trivial when people are worrying about their mortgage, so it is, but so are many other things, such as astonishingly wealthy, though no doubt vastly worthy and compassionate, young men having a motorbike jolly across Africa and wanting people to give money to cheer them on. I'd rather have the link with my home town 250 years ago and the items those forgotten artisans, craftsmen and artists were responsible for.

So, I'm looking after Pugsley. He's never gone to bed without his sister before and we were in some doubt if he'd settle. Squiffany said her goodbyes to him lovingly this evening, getting on her knees to hug and reassure him - you can see how they are used to being spoken to by their parents! He was fine after they'd gone, choosing various games and jigsaw puzzles from the cupboard and saying "Well done, Pugsley, good boy" with satisfaction after finishing a particularly complicated puzzle. He blotted his copybook rather when I'd put him in his pyjamas and gone to warm his bedtime milk, by doing an unmentionable activity in his nappy - not five minutes after sitting briefly on the potty and assuring me there was nothing to come. They use reusable nappies mostly, but a disposable is more comfortable and absorbant for the night, and my frugal soul was dismayed at the waste of a new nappy; furthermore it was the last, so he's in one of his usual ones after all. His father was out of nappies day and night soon after reaching the age of 2, so let's hope Pugsley emulates him soon.

Afterwards, I read him 4 bedtime stories (usually they have 3 but he wanted Fox in Socks and who could resist?), tucked him up in bed and I haven't heard another sound in the past hour and a half.

You do appreciate, I'm sure, that I write as I would speak; that is, mostly nonsense. If I refer to a bottle instead of a bunch of flowers, just be glad that you only have to interpret me. Just imagine how confusing it is actually to be me. You may spare a compassionate thought for my family, but on the other hand they have the joy of my constant and enlivening presence, so they are most awfully lucky, by and large.

Z takes it easy

I realise that I can't tell you all about the sale, as the prices haven't gone up yet on our website, but I can say that it all went very well.

We usually have 4 hours of viewing, but this time the Sage decided to go for 5 hours and it was just as well. We were busy from 2 o'clock until just before the sale started at 7. Zerlina has attended her first sale, though her father had to take her out when she became noisy - her mother was up on the rostrum, sitting beside the Sage, at work. I was squeaky with excitement sitting beside Charmian, ready to receive the money.

Lots of people came and a good number of them were ready to buy. 79 people registered as bidders and all those and a good many more wanted to see the china - come to think of it, many of the registered buyers were couples, which accounts for the 150 or more in the room. We have it all on display on tables covered with blankets and tablecloths, with a horseshoe-shaped arrangement of tables around so that people can sit and see and handle the china. Several of us fetch and carry as requested. After a few hours of turning back and forth, our feet ache and I find I have to eat regularly or else I become dizzy and a bit faint.

It went well. I'm so pleased, we all work hard but the Sage is the one whose prestige and professionalism is on the line. A quite important collection was up for sale and he'd had to convince the vendors (the late owner's family) that he was the best person to sell it. We've had a lot of publicity, so a lot was at stake.

I haven't done a lot today. I cycled in to town and bought vegetables and flowers and champagne and cycled gingerly home - several bottles of wine and two bunches of wine amongst the potatoes and cauliflower and all the rest in my bike panniers made me heavy and unstable and I was careful, and also overtaken by a young lycra-clad woman.

Otherwise, I haven't done a lot. I sniffed the cork for Dave and opened another bottle to drink for the Sage. It's been lovely weather so I've pottered tiredly about and I'll have another boringly early night. I have not neglected telling the Sage how splendid he is.

Z drinks tea and whisky and goes to bed early

I'll tell you about the sale tomorrow. I'm so tired now. We had an hour's extra viewing and it was pretty busy throughout, though I did have a break while Zerlina slept on me - as always, she was asleep with a few minutes of my soothing presence.

I was disappointed not to buy Stephen's cartoon (see last Sunday's post - I'm sorry, I really can't link at present as my brain doesn't work), but the bidding was spirited (as we say in the auctioneering business) and I kept finding myself the underbidder; nevertheless I pushed it up past the point at which I was rather banking on being taken out. Not that I think it isn't worth the £160.02 paid for it and next year I will try harder.

Lowestoft has, as I told you after the last sale (well, I probably did and lets face it, neither you nor I can be arsed to go back and look), a peculiar attitude to parking. The long-stay park closes at 9 pm and the longer-opening one is only available for 3 hours at a time, so if one needs to be there all afternoon and evening one has to repark. I did go in the long-stay one this time, as it was likely I'd be finished in time. I trotted over the road at 8.45 to find the gate locked. I went back and asked the parking man chappie, who was walking away, if the 'out' gate was open. It was. I said, oh good, because my daughter's car is in there too. He asked if I knew whose was the third car, but I didn't. I said I was sorry to keep him waiting, because if the car park were empty, he could simply lock up and go home, but he said he's on duty until midnight anyway. I said that when I went back, I'd ask everyone if their car was the third one (ooh, The Third Car, does zither music come to mind?) and he thanked me, isn't that sweet? So, Lowestoft is a bit rubbish but the people who live there are not, they are lovely.

I came home, drank two large mugs of Lapsang tea and drank two drams of whisky. Now I'm taking the daily papers to bed. Oh, by the way, the sale was mentioned in the Daily Express today, complete with a picture of the Tulip Painter jug.

And thank you for your kind comments about the photos. You'll have seen (whether or not you noticed) that there have been a few photos of me, complete with face, recently, when previously any Z pics were either from a great distance or obscured views. It's all part of my new positive self-image. After years of feeling apologetic about my appearance, now I take myself as I am and am cheerful about it.

Anniversary

It was a really lovely lunch and, in response to a request, I took photos of the cake. Lilian and Jo, who are sisters, made and decorated the cake which was both beautiful and delicious. The flowers are made of sugar - isn't it impressive?


I had the job of giving a name badge to the 9 former members, some of whom I hadn't seen for 10 or 15 years, and I'm happy to say that i recognised every one of them, which says as much for their youthfully unchanging appearance as it does for my memory. I was particularly happy to see Florence looking so well; she left us on the grounds of increasing age several years ago, and is now 97 and still pretty and cheerful and walking on her own two feet. She recognised me too and we had a lovely chat. I had my picture taken helping to cut the cake, as I'm secretary, but I doubt you'll ever get a look of that. However, I will put up another picture of us Sage family girls - taken at z's 6-week celebration (as you saw last week; I've only just got around to uploading it).

Wagging Tongues

Right, simplicity rules again. A basic background. I was only teasing...

One forgets when a child gets onto each stage of development and of course they vary hugely as well. Pugsley, at just two, has a large vocabulary and uses quite complex grammar - that is, he puts in pronouns, adjectives and so on accurately and constructs proper sentences - but he doesn't yet know colours. Zerlina, who is just coming up to two months old, came to visit this afternoon. Her latest entertainment is having raspberries blown at her by her mother. She thinks that is most amusing and watches and listens with interest. Weeza stuck out her tongue. Zerlina stuck out her tongue right back and they did that several times. It was certainly Zerlina responding to Weeza and not the other way round. I was really surprised - I would have thought she was far too young to copy an action, wouldn't you? I've no idea when any of my children did something like that.

The lunch club I go to (yes, I am that sort of person; that is, I go so I must be) is celebrating its 20th anniversary tomorrow and I've promised to help with various little items. I have put everything I've said I'll take in the car; the chairman is 90 years old, a retired headmistress of a girls' private school in Surrey and her air of authority still stands as staunchly as when she retired 30 years ago. I have agreed to arrive 45 minutes early - for no good reason at all that I can see, although there is a small job that will take all of 10 minutes to do. Still, I'm sure it will be great fun and we'll have a marvellous time. There will be Cake.

Al is getting better. He was back in the shop this afternoon. Dilly has booked a week's holiday for them all at Centre Parcs in January. She will be working for a couple of days that week, but it's near enough to her school to commute and it will be much less crowded, and vastly cheaper, in term time. So I've put it in my diary too and will look after the shop that week.

Edward Carrot Hands

Oh, before I forget, the list of apple and pear varieties

Pear -
Conference
Concorde
Doyenne de Comice
Williams

Apple -
Bramley
Fortune
Early Wilson
Rev Wilkes
Katy
Cox's Orange Pippin
Spartan
Norfolk Royal
Worcester Pearmain
Russet
Charles Ross
Suffolk Pink
Howgate Wonder
Laxton Epire
Freyberg
James Greave
Granny Smith
Ida Red
*unknown variety, grown in customer's garden*

I was a bit late in this morning, as the envelope I'd thought contained my papers for this afternoon's meeting didn't and it took me ten minutes to find it. Well, to be strictly accurate, the Sage finally found it. But Eileen had done what she could, which was a great deal but didn't include putting up the shelves as she's several inches shorter than I am and it's all a stretch for me.

In the afternoon, the chairman and vice-chairman were re-elected. This could have been worse; I could have been *promoted*.

Tim was absolutely lovely and got in everything while I counted the (meagre) takings. Half yesterday's - but yesterday was a good day. It balances.

Ro came in and asked if he could help with dinner? "Ten minutes late?" he wondered. But no, I found him a job preparing carrots. He wondered whether to prepare the whole bunch. I pondered. "I'll eat three" I said, "do what you think for Dad and yourself, oh and I'll eat a couple more while dinner's cooking. Would you like some cheese on a corn cake, I've just had some?" "Oh, it wouldn't be fair to tempt you." "That's all right, I won't be tempted. I'll have carrots." So he prepared the carrots for me and I prepared the cheese for him and poured us each a glass of wine. But I was greedy. I didn't stop at two or three raw carrots (he'd done the whole bunch after all).

When I turned round, he snorted with laughter. "It is a bit Edward Carrot Hands, isn't it?" I admitted. "That's what I was thinking, you're holding those carrots out like fingers.

Al is a little better now, but still feels a bit woozy, not surprisingly as he hasn't eaten for a couple of days. I have offered to go in in the morning and he can see how he feels and maybe come in later to work. If he were employed, he'd certainly take the rest of the week off, but the self-employed don't have that luxury. On the other hand, they are their own masters, and that's worth more if that's what you value.

Reading newspapers in the bath

Whenever Dilly or the children, all of whom are in contact with school and pre-school children, catch something, Al gets it too, only worse. Since we all caught a nasty infection back in the spring, he's caught anything going and gets it worse than anyone else. Today, he was scheduled to be home with the children anyway until 4 o'clockish and he took a duvet on to the sofa and let Squiffany look after him and her little brother.

"Daddy's got a bug" I said. Pugsley, who has discovered the joy of language and being cheeky with it, said "Daddy's got a spider. Daddy's got a scary spider. Daddy's got a fly, yuck. Daddy's got a big black beetle. Daddy's got a wiggly worm. Daddy's got a creepy crawly".

I blame his father. He always did have a way with words.

I offered to go in and take over the shop from Tim, and Al must have been feeling rotten, as he agreed. I had a meeting in Norwich first, so I did a bit of shopping before I came home (clothes! Little clothes in yet a smaller size!), heated up some minestrone for lunch - yes, there's still a good quart left - and cycled in to the shop. Lovely Tim took in the notice boards and the pumpkins to save me time later.

D'you know - Al is selling 19 different varieties of apples in the shop at present, all of them not only English but grown in Norfolk or Yagnub. He's also selling 3 or 4 varieties of English pears. I think that's pretty damn good.

A friendly customer stayed chatting until nearly half past 5 and it was 6.30 by the time I arrived home, then took the takings and the list for tomorrow through to Al, had my offer to open up tomorrow accepted, came indoors, answered a comment on the other blog, printed off various papers and left for the next meeting. I got home half an hour ago to find that the Sage had cooked dinner for me.

Apart from writing up notes from tonight's meeting, sending a couple of emails and getting ready for tomorrow afternoon's meeting (a third committee, none of them connected with another), I shall relax for the rest of the evening. Unless there is something in the newspaper to annoy me.

Oh, by the way, the reason I find all available background colours too bright has just occurred to me. Macs are bright. It's a deliberate ploy to impress potential customers.

Z bids

Have you heard about this? I wouldn't have if it were not for the fine blog of Stephen Collins, who is a most excellent cartoonist and who kindly sent me a Christmas card of one of his cartoons last year because he offered to, via the blog and I boldly said 'yes please'.

I'm putting in a few bids, it's for a very good cause and there are no extra costs - the envelope comes mounted and framed and postage is free, and all money bid is going to the charity.

The Saturday of Z

"The Radio of Damocles" said Ro as he came into the room. I'd just put iTunes on shuffle (always a mistake) and I thought for a moment he was talking about 'Making Plans for Nigel' (XTC) which happened to have just taken over disconcertingly from Sidney Bechet. But he was right. I had a radio hanging over my head.

This house has thick walls and can't receive a digital signal everywhere, and recently I moved the table a bit (and can't move it back or the printer lead won't reach the computer) and I had had to hold the radio up when I wanted to listen to it. But there's a hook in the beam, so finally that was where I put it to receive a good signal. But I turned it off when Any Questions came on, as there's too much dissension and bad temper and I don't want that in my life.

I decided to make soup and cycled in for the ingredients. As I came home, there was a dove in my path - there's only a few yards of cycle path, but a car must have hit it and spun it from the road. It was still alive and its wing fluttered. I couldn't leave it and stopped and got off, wondering how much force was the minimum I needed to use (awful to make it suffer worse, but what would cause bloodshed, almost as bad? Sorry). Between my stopping, and picking it up, it died. I put it over the fence in the long grass.

Certainly a sign of winter, however sunny the day had been, when I feel the urge to make minestrone. A substantial soup, followed only by baked potatoes and cheese. And now, as I sit here, coffee. Next, I will cuddle my dog and read the papers.

Taking stock

So, I had a meeting in Bury St Edmunds today, which was due to start with a sandwich lunch at 12.15, with the formal part at 1 o'clock. It takes about 45 minutes to get there and I had to allow 10 minutes to park and walk, so I had plenty of time to do this'n'that before leaving. However, it was a bit of a surprise to notice it was 5 past 12 and I hadn't dried my hair yet. I started aiming the drier at my head, then realised I had all the papers to print out for the meeting - anyway, I was still in the car by 20 past so that was all right.

Or so it seemed. Every slow lorry in Norfolk and Suffolk was being taken on the A143 today and most of them were in front of me. I was patient, as what's the point in belting past one when you can see half a dozen more in front going no faster? A few miles from the Bury bypass, a police car came up behind, lights flashing. We all moved over as far as we could, and a few minutes later came to a car stopped by the side of the road, a police car behind it, with the offside front wing stoved in and an elderly woman in the passenger seat. In the next field there was a yellow Air Ambulance helicopter - but the car didn't look badly damaged. A couple of hundred yards later, on the other side of the road, a car was off the road, tipped into the ditch and against the hedge. In the next few minutes, two more police cars and two ambulances sped past from the Bury direction. I couldn't help thinking that they just didn't need all those police officers and paramedics, but I suppose better too many than find yourself wanting. Anyway, I was quite glad I hadn't left home much earlier and I was even less inclined to overtake.

I socialised purposefully before the meeting proper, and then one of the items of business was for each chairman to give a verbal report. Darlings, there was a veritable plethora of chairmen; twenty-four of them, although one was a Chair of Chairs and gave his report later. Since my branch of the society starts with W, mine was the penultimate report and I chatted away happily for a few minutes, enthusing about what we'd been doing in the last few months and ... oh you know, how I usually talk, but I was actually saying something and not just waffling. As I stopped, with a mention that this year is our 20th anniversary and we're celebrating at the Christmas lecture and we haven't finalised the arrangements yet, but it's highly likely that there will be Cake! - the Chair of Chairs said "thank you, Z, that was delightful." Oh I say, I thought, and I thought I'd been talking too long.

I had taken the precaution of wearing a bright pink shirt, which I'd ironed specially, so that I would be highly recognisable too. Hah.

I went into town to get some vegetables and arrived in time to help Al pack up the shop and then went to buy some wine. I opened a particularly nice bottle the other night, and discovered that I drink less when it's good wine, as I sip and savour rather than cheerily glug, so I spent more than usual with the reasoning that it would cost no more per night as it would last longer. When I got home, I toasted nearly the last of the loaf I bought yesterday (what happened to the rest? I wondered) and cut it into snippets and put on bits of the cheese and terrine and took it all, with the wine, into the drawing room to cheer the Sage before dinner. I was very cheerful, which is also good, because it encouraged him to kiss me. Later, Ro came home, so I toasted the very last bread and did more snippets for him. He was frightfully impressed, and asked what was for dinner. I told him about the organically-farmed salmon and said that, as it was delicately flavoured, I would poach it in a court bouillon. "Huh?" "A court bouillon. " "Yes, I said 'huh?'" I told him that I would cook some vegetables and herbs in water and then cook the salmon in the resultant broth. "Right. You mean stock then."

Well anyway, I used carrots and shallots and fennel, and separately poached more carrot, spring onions and the rest of the fennel (because they were neatly sliced and lightly cooked) and then cooked the fish, arrayed it on the vegetables and then reduced the stock (okay, Ro, have it your way) and added saffron and butter for a sauce.

Z is greedy

The cheese stall on the market is awfully good. I bought a piece of Bleu de Basque which I've had before and awoke a most overwhelming cheese craving then (yeah, bright, aren't I, to buy it again?) and also decided to try a hard mature goat's cheese from Swaledale. He cut a piece for me to try and it was delicious. The same people also make ewe's and cow's milk cheese; I will try them another time. He also cut a piece of a blue goatsmilk cheese from Ribblesdale (I think) which he described as like Roquefort but less salty and that was wonderful too. I bought a loaf of bread and a pack of biltong, which he said a friend of his makes, and then noticed the coarse pork terrine, so of course couldn't resist that either. I'm so greedy. I thought it was £12 well spent, and bore it home in triumph, along with some salmon (farmed, but organically, with no colouring fed to the fish), a couple of whole smoked mackerel and some mussels. The Sage is not fond of mussels, so I cooked them for my lunch and tried just a little of the terrine while the shallots were cooking. It was delicious. Really, like home-made. The pork was chopped rather than minced and quite chunky, the terrine was lined with bacon and the whole thing was succulent, beautifully seasoned and I've not tasted any terrine so good since my mother used to make them. After I'd eaten my mussels, with some of the bread, I decided it had really been a very virtuous lunch, so ate a little cheese as well.

My diet is totally stuffed for the weekend. I won't be able to help myself. Or rather, I'll keep helping myself until it's all eaten.

Don't panic

Okay, enough about babies, a moment of weakness only.

I had some twinges of anxiety this afternoon. I went to get petrol - oh, I say, it took less than £60 to fill it up, when it had cost me £65 until recently. The fact that it was £40 when I bought this car 3 1/2 years ago is a passing happy memory. Anyway, I stood there, nozzle in hand, pondering how to pay. I had cash, but if I spent that, I'd only have to go to the cashpoint sooner. Credit card or debit card? I've been hammering the credit card this past month, spending money on the London flat and since I won't receive any rent until the agents have taken out their commission, the Sage will probably insist on paying the bill - well, he may have to, in fact, though in any case he hates to think of me being short of money in case I have an extravagant whim (I very rarely do, but he enjoys it when it happens). So it seemed less than polite to stick him with paying to fill my car too. I decided on the debit card. Only it wasn't there.

I keep a few cards in a pocket in my purse, as I am using quite a small bag at present which isn't large enough for a wallet as well as all the other necessities of a woman's life - 8 sets of keys, a corkscrew, screwdriver, Oyster card (I'm not planning a trip to London any time soon), diary and so on - so I don't have to switch things round too often. And whatever else gets taken out, the debit and credit card don't. And I wasn't exactly sure when I last had the missing card. Not for at least a week. I imagined my bank account being emptied. I considered phoning to get it stopped. I pondered whether I could have left it behind when I used it last. While doing all this, I paid for the petrol (credit card, sorry, darling xx) and decided that the odds were I'd dropped it at home.

And when I got back, some three hours later, so I had.

I bought a new waterproof coat in Norwich for cycling in during the winter. It was very boring. I also bought a new diary. That was positively depressing. I shall, in the next few days, spend some time filling it in with meetings already booked.

Babytalk

It is so interesting, observing a baby. Zerlina was 7 weeks old on Monday (if only I could be arsed to label posts, I'd be able to track this and look back, but I really can't be bothered after all this time) and today I was left in charge for a while because her mother had an appointment.

She'd just been fed, but was a little windy, so I held her on my shoulder while she waited for some relieving burps. After they had happened, I put her on my lap and talked to her and smiled, and she smiled back and replied. That is, the sounds she made responded to my voice and, to a degree, mirrored it.

When I'd arrived, she was asleep and Weeza, who was holding her, gave her to me while she got ready to go out. After a while, Zerlina woke. She gave such a double-take on discovering she was lying on me and not her mother as she expected. Her bottom lip stuck out and wobbled, though she didn't cry.

These changes have happened in a week. I hadn't expected to be responded to so early, which shows how soon one forgets.

She is now 8 pounds, 8 and 1/2 ounces. Still, at nearly 2 months old, not the birthweight of Phil and Lisa's baby, but she's outgrown her first lot of tiny clothes, bought hastily by her other granny and is growing steadily, and feeding and sleeping well.

Morning after

Do you ever, I wonder, write a post and afterwards worry about what someone will think if they happen to visit your blog for the first time on that day?

Oh. Just me then.

Crushed

Several of us on the committee had been on the visit to London last week. At today's meeting, we were talking about how it had gone (this is not just chat, this sort of discussion is part of the meeting) and it was observed that a fair number of men have rather fallen for me.

I was embarrassed, but it's true. I seem to appeal to the over-70-somethings.

One delightful gentleman arrived half an hour early to claim a seat on the coach next to me. He was one of the first in the coffee queue - I was the other side of the room chatting - so he could get me a cup of coffee. Another approached and blurted out, well, I thought he said I looked lovely, which was startling enough (simple black trousers and jumper) but J said he said I was lovely, which is probably a bit worse. Fortunately, I was manifestly more taken aback than gratified, as a first reaction. Gracious thanks as a second, if you are wondering.

I've explained, this is what happens when you are chairman, or rather chairwoman (but I don't think that is a word unless used by the Chairwoman herself; that is, Katy's lovely mother [if you don't know what the hell I'm talking about, sorry, neither of them blogs much nowadays so I don't think it'd be helpful to link]) of the committee, so I now expect a small queue hoping to supersede me next summer.

It's a funny thing that all of the lovely men who read this blog are younger than I, most of them by a considerable margin. I should like to reassure them that I do not expect romantic adoration. Raucous laughter is, I agree, more likely.

Six weeks

Last week, when Zerlina was six weeks old, we took her photo against a photograph of her mother and me, when El herself was six weeks old.

I remember the day particularly; I had an appointment at the doctor for my six-week check-up and El had to be fed and changed first, but then the photographer arrived. He was a friend of my parents and had known my father since childhood, and their parents were friends too. Now, his son and wife are good friends of ours and their children went to school with El and Al and are still friends in their turn - in fact, Susie has already visited El and little z.

His name (the photographer's), rather splendidly, was Wallingford; known as Ford, and his studio was just on the North side of the bridge in the centre of Lowestoft, if any of you ever visited the town in the past. One of his sisters was called Waveney, after the river.

Anyway, El was a bit fractious because she was hungry, but she stayed cheerful for long enough for the photos to be taken.

This is a week ago, BTW, little z is 7 weeks old now.

Brownies, blues and a celebration

It's been a funny sort of day. I went to bed early because I was really tired, and the first time I woke up in the night (I wake up during the course of most hours of the night at the moment, which is probably the reason I'm tired) it dawned on me that, as it has been so cold this week, I probably should have turned on the church heating for this morning. I decided to go in at 8 o'clock so that at least the radiators would be hot and people would think it was warm in there.

In the event, it was a mild day but extremely wet. I actually drove the 200 yards to church. Yes, I know. But it was absolutely tipping down and, even with an umbrella, my trousers would have been soaked. I'd had to change once this morning, and that was just going from the car to the newspaper shop.

There were only 8 of us in church, including 2 ministers, the organist, the organist's wife, the sidesman, the churchwarden and the person reading the lesson (the churchwarden read the second); so that left one person there because she chose to be. Afterwards, I went home and made brownies.

There was to be an ordination in one of the churches this afternoon; that is, Reg was to become a fully fledged Ordained Local Minister (that's a real priest, only unpaid and licenced to work in the benefice he lives in) and so the Bishop was visiting again. Afterwards, there would be tea. My contribution to the feast was to be the brownies.

I decided to make two batches, so that the Sage and Ro would know I cared. I had just enough chocolate and butter and dark brown sugar, but not enough self raising flour. Plenty of plain, so I could add baking powder. It was only after I took them out of the oven and thought they didn't look right that I realised I'd forgotten the baking powder. I tasted a bit. It seemed fine. Pfft. I'd take them anyway. While I was in the drawing room reading the papers, Ro came in. "What's with the brownies?" he asked. I said I'd made an extra batch and explained the mishap - "They're fine" he said. "You took one?" "I could tell they weren't counted." "16 in each batch. You took one from the round dish?" "Yes" "That's all right then - mind you, I'd just have given blame where it was due."

The service was fine - lovely, actually, but I was shocked, when talking to a friend I hadn't seen for a few years, to piece together bits of a family tragedy that she evidently thought I knew about. Afterwards, I asked someone else, and it transpired that about 3 years ago, their eldest grandson killed himself at the age of 17. I only saw that boy once, when he was a cheerful platinum-haired toddler and you can well imagine how I feel for him and his family, and I didn't know so never said anything to them and now I can only do so if I write and maybe bring it up afresh.

Afterwards, the tea went fine, and all my brownies were eaten. Towards the end, I was talking to another churchwarden, who I had noticed earlier looked pale and drawn. I asked how she was, and (it was a day when people assumed I knew what they were talking about) she said that she still felt pretty rough and she was glad that at least the funeral wouldn't be at her church, and kept talking in that vein. Again, it seemed better to make the right noises and not actually ask - it turned out that her ex-husband had been found dead at his home, having died in his bathroom no-one quite knew how many days before. They had been married for 33 years and divorced for 5 - I rather gathered that she had finally left him because his behaviour had become impossible to live with, and since then his drinking had only got worse and worse. I said that, after such a long marriage, she would still be his widow and grieve for him, but that she would not get the sympathy and support due to a widow - she said that this was how she felt, but I wondered if I'd been too outspoken?

Afterwards, I congratulated Reg. I am so glad for him. His wife was desperately ill in the first year of his training and he had to extend it while he looked after her, but she has made a good recovery and now looks healthy and happy and very proud. I kissed him and told him we were proud of him, and he looked pleased and kissed me.

Oh, and this morning, with only 5 in the congregation, I felt obliged to sing hymns loudly. I usually spare people the sound of my voice, but I know how disconcerting it is for the organist to not be able to hear anyone, and if someone sings it encourages other people, so I sang my little heart out. Actually, all that breathing out made me feel a bit faint, so I had to take my coat off and get too chilly to faint. I could feel the heat of the radiator, but not quite enough to go without a coat.

Grannying

I looked after the children all morning, as Dilly was helping with a charity stall under the Buttercross and Al was, as always on a Saturday (unless I take over) at work. Little angels, they were. They were still having breakfast when I went through, then Squiffany dressed herself and I helped Pugsley, then we came home and they bounced on my bed while I worked around them to change the sheets and tidy the bedroom. Then I told them I'd bought them some new paints, so they painted at the kitchen table while I cleaned up around them. Squiffany is very into rainbows at present, and wanted to know the order of the colours, which she painted carefully and accurately. She wrote her name on the page - she can write all the letters but does not yet know that the order matters. After that, they ate cheese straws and jam rings and I squeezed orange juice for them, and we came and played Lotto. I needed to wash the kitchen floor, which I'd left until after the painting was done, so they watched television and played alone for a bit, and then we went out into the garden. It was windy. After that, they had lunch and then their mother came home.

Squiffany was going to a party in the afternoon, so Pugsley came to me again. He did some more drawing - we both drew a tiger and an elephant. He was so impressed by my stripes that he overlooked the fact that I'm not sure what a tiger's ears look like. We read a book three times. I wanted to read a different book, but no. For tea, I cooked him fish fingers, chips and peas. I would like to think that this does not make me a Bad Granny. In fact, he fed me most of the chips, grinning mightily, ate the fish fingers - three of them - and left the peas. I looked at him and thought how like his father, at the same age, he looks.

In between times, I cooked carbonnade of beef for dinner. It is apparent that the weather has changed. I want to be in the warm kitchen, cooking. It's very windy tonight. We ate it with sprouting broccoli, mashed potatoes, courgettes and carrots. I ate my share of carrots raw, while I was peeling potatoes.

The Bishop is coming again tomorrow - I know, darlings, you wait all year and then all your bishopings come together. The service is at a different church and the organ, and organising, have nothing to do with me. I will make chocolate brownies as my contribution to the tea.

Heh heh

I went into the kitchen this evening to make some coffee, and the Sage was in the study next door on the phone, and I realised that his rich and dirty chuckle is just like mine. So what I'm wondering is, has he taken on my laugh over the years or have I taken on his?

I went into a music lesson today. It was good. The teacher wants Year 9 to have a go at some music composition, but most of them wouldn't have the confidence or knowledge to do that now, so this term she gets them to arrange a piece of music of her choice, next term one of their own choice, and in the summer she will have them, in groups, writing their own. The piece she has chosen for this term is Word Up, by Cameo


I can't play the drums or the guitar, but I can teach enough to get by. It's good and I enjoy it.

Afterwards, I spent the afternoon with Weeza and Zerlina. z slept on me for quite some time, enabling her mother to clean the house - Phil's family is visiting this weekend. She had to wake z to have a feed at 6 o'clock and z fell asleep again afterwards. Weeza says she is always very relaxed after I have visited. I explain that I bore her to sleep and that it should last all evening...

Family photo

Yes indeed, as Dave has already observantly observed, the Sage is in the paper today. If you see the EDP, it's on page 22 and if not try here.
He's also got a half page spread in the local paper and a piece in the Lowestoft local paper, both page 2.

If you'd like to see the whole catalogue, this is our website.

Flittermousing

Last night, I went to bed and set the alarm for 6 am, because I had to leave early for another trip to London. Last time I looked at the clock before going to sleep, it was just before 12.45. At 1.17, the Sage and I were woken by the sound of the burglar alarm. The Sage sighed and started to climb out of bed. "Thass not th'alarm, issit?" I mumbled dozily. He said it was, and went off downstairs to shoo the spider off the beam and reset the alarm. That it might be a burglar seemed highly unlikely, as Tilly takes her duties as guard dog with a completely professional attitude.

A few minutes later, the Sage reappeared. "It's a bat" he announced. "In the dining room". "What? Oh bugger. It'll be a devil to catch, they always know where you are," I said, rather wider awake by then. I got up and shambled downstairs in my dressing gown. In the dining room, nothing stirred for a few moments and then the bad swooped past, too quickly for me to follow it with my eyes. It did it again. Then nothing. I went to open the shutters, then the window and then started to peer all around the room. We couldn't find the bat, which was hiding. The Sage wound up his torch, turned off the light and shone the torch into various potential batcaves.

After several minutes, we gave up, shut the window and went back to bed. Today, the window has been left open and we hope it went out again at dusk - the alarm is set in that room so that if it's still there we should find out about it before bedtime.

But it's a bit bemusing. We didn't use the dining room yesterday and the doors weren't opened. There is an opening between the hall and the dining room, but the hall is divided into two with a door between and the door is only opened when we go upstairs and then shut again. The front door had not been opened and nor had any upstairs windows. I did leave the hall door open for about five minutes, but the door to the porch was not open at the time and it was mid-afternoon, before bats were about. There is a chimney, but it's lined and the flue goes to the woodburning stove, which is shut.

So, how on earth did a bat get into the dining room?

Hanging on

My new tenant phoned today. He's been trying to get a phone line and internet connection set up as soon as possible. You'd think it would be quick and easy, but it can be extraordinarily time consuming. He's working abroad this week, so he hasn't actually moved in yet. He rang as I was rather his last resort. He was told that he'd have to pay a £50 deposit, which he accepted - but his credit card wasn't, because it isn't a British one. He's European, from a country in the EU, and has just come to live here, as a posting from an international firm he's worked for for several years. He was told he could send a postal order (when was the last time you used a postal order?) but that would take 11 working days to process and only then could he be given a date for the line to be set up. This is a line that has only been closed for a couple of months - though mind you, Weeza and Phil had to go through the whole malarkey for a line that had been closed for one day, and were unable to keep the same phone number.

So he rang me to ask if I'd pay the £50 and he pay me back. I agreed - poor bloke, what's a person to do? He said he'd phone BT again and ring me straight back with a direct line to make the payment. He was not, obviously, wanting my card details himself.

Several hours went past. Eventually, he rang again. He said that he'd finally got everything done, the sales person at the end of the phone filled in all his details - and then her internet connection went down and it was all lost. He had to wait for a bit and ring again. This time, it went smoothly and at the end he mentioned the deposit. "Oh no, no deposit's necessary" he was told. He's been given a date of 10th October, and has been assured that both phone and internet will be set up on the same day.

Apart from the hours it has taken him - almost a whole day - it's all an extraordinarily unwieldy procedure. I don't understand it at all. Back in the day, there was a shortage of phone lines. Do you remember party lines? Two households had to share a line; they had different numbers but if one person was using the phone no one in the other house was able to. That was all my sister was able to get at one point. But now it isn't a shortage of lines and there is no setting up to do, as the line is already wired in. So what takes the time?

Kindness

Dandelion was a bit bemused by my idea of an evening meal, which was half a packet of corn cakes and a can of lager and cup of tea (she provided the tea, which I kept forgetting to buy), so she plied me with chocolate, which I don't often eat but enjoy when I do. I kept stopping painting to answer the phone; evidently people missed me back at home.

On Saturday, I took the Tube to her house. It's a bit exhausting, managing a heavy suitcase on the Tube, but a nice lady who worked there called me 'love' when she held the gate for me, which was cheering. I was dismayed when I found a flight of steps, but a kind young man helped me with my bag and I thanked him. On the next, long flight of downwards stairs, a young woman, having just climbed them, turned back to carry my suitcase and I only just got my voice back under control by the time we reached the bottom in time to thank her too. The kindness of strangers indeed.

At my destination, I managed to get my case down the stairs, while an older man, also with a bag, and I bitched about the fact that no London tube station makes any concession to people with heavy baggage. There are no ramps at all and often stairs between lines or at the exit.

It was a great party and I met lots of people. I had to leave early because I had a timed train ticket and couldn't miss it. Sure enough, someone helped me yet again at the next set of stairs (though she was daunted at the weight too, and we lugged it along together), and again at Liverpool Street. It's a bit shocking, to realise how evident it must be that I'm struggling to manage - but I'm old and quite small and it really was a heavy bag.

Thanks to having set off before the rush hour, I arrived at the station early and went to ask the man at the barrier if I might go and ask the guard if he'd let me travel early. He said he couldn't let me through before my due time. I said I quite understood and turned away - he relented and called me back to let me through. I walked the length of the train and finally the guard appeared and I asked him if he minded me catching an earlier train? He said that he didn't mind but if there were an inspection I'd be in trouble and I really should have the ticket endorsed at the ticket office. There wasn't time for that, so I decided to board the train anyway. When he came to check the tickets, he said I shouldn't be there. I said that he'd said he didn't mind, but he told me that he'd meant it personally not professionally as it were. I apologised and suggested I get out at the next station and wait. He sighed and stamped my ticket anyway. I asked if he was sure? - I'd willingly get out - but he didn't make me.

Weeza and Phil and Zerlina picked me up from the station and we went to the pub. I was a bit of a lightweight, only having a half pint of bitter, and later a small glass of wine with dinner. I slept long and deeply that night and drove home the next morning to play the organ for the Bishop.

Kindness, indeed, I received nothing but. It's a bit hard but probably good practice for the future, to accept the need for grateful humility.

Z is Struck (but not in a dumb or injured way)

Several things struck me - not literally, although I did find two bruises on my arm and no recollection of how they might have been obtained - while I was staying in London. The first was that it's getting harder to find real useful things to buy in Islington. I went out for paint. On the way, I meant to call in at the internet cafe to find firms to check gas and electricity (no break-downs, but you need a sustificate before you can let out anywhere, and I have no problems with that at all. Two many people have died from fumes in unkept-up rented accommodation and the checks are necessary, although eye-wateringly expensive) but it had vanished and been replaced by a café. I kept going, pulling my suitcase (empty) towards Chapel Market. The paint shop had gone too. I went into the key-cutting place to get some keys cut and asked if there was an internet cafe locally. I was directed to a dodgy-looking game-playing place that was, in any case, closed. I kept going and found another small DIY shop and bought the paint and asked again, and was told of an internet place in the next road. Indeed, it was there. About 15 new and smart looking machines; I obtained permission to park the case (now containing paint pots) in a corner and seated myself at a machine. Half an hour later, I had made three appointments (I looked up firms and phoned them there and then) and checked vitallest emails and replied to a couple, but resisted blogging; too much to do. I went to pay. 50p. If they charge so little, they will surely not be in business long. The young man at the desk was startlingly handsome, with deep black skin and a charmingly shy smile.

Oh, I've omitted to say, when I was first thwarted in my attempts at paint-buying, I thought I'd try Woolworth. It isn't there any longer. A sign says it is to be replaced by Waitrose. What a good idea. Sainsbury next door, M&S round the corner, another supermarket is just what is needed right there.

Anyway, I headed into Sainsbury to get a few cleaning materials and some food. I had taken yoghurt and corn cakes so that I would have something for breakfast, and a kettle but had forgotten tea. I forgot it again.

I went back to the flat and started to get ready to paint, but it wasn't long before the man arrived to fit the new aerial, so I let him in, showed him up the two flights of stairs to the balcony and went down to let in the electricity man. They were both delightful and we chatted in between times. The electricity man found a small problem in the original set-up, but he said, kindly, that he wouldn't charge extra to fix it as it would only take half an hour. Then we went outside to the downstairs flat and I let him in. I have a charming tenant, but I'd never been in the flat until this trip (I'd called in the night before to explain that people were coming round and okay them coming in) and he has got it looking gorgeous. Awfully stylish, and he has a Mac too.

So, it wasn't until the afternoon than I made a start, and I seemed to make slow progress. I sorted out the bathroom and bedroom and texted a friend to say how dull it all was. Several texts later, I accepted her offer to come and help, and cracked on with renewed vigour.

The next day, I got on with cleaning and painting. It wasn't that the flat was dirty, but that a tenant is entitled to expect every corner to be newly scrubbed, and it was. In the afternoon, rather later than booked, the gas man came. He was not quite so chummy but unbent a bit in the face of the relentless Z charm (hem hem). Then I went off to the agents and signed the documents. By the end of the year, after all the expense, I hope to actually be earning something from the new tenant.

I meant to go out, but it was later than I'd wanted to leave and I was suddenly exhausted. All I did was recharge my Oyster card, get some food and a mini bottle of wine, and I was lying on the bed eating and drinking by 5.15, not having had more than a bread roll all day so far. Then I went to sleep. Later, I read. I'd meant to spend the rest of the evening working, but was too tired. I only drank half of the one-third bottle of wine (I brought the rest home) and read and slept the rest of the evening. I couldn't even get up early the next morning and was 15 hours in bed all told. I was cross with myself for the wasted time, but sleep was fitful every night, not helped by not having sufficient bedclothes. There wasn't room in the case for a sleeping bag, so I brought a duvet cover and a shawl and warm pyjamas and a pair of the Sage's socks, and thought I'd be fine. I wasn't. I added my bathtowel and jacket and on the second and third nights kept on my long sleeved tee shirt. As I draped each removed garment on top of the pile I felt like Eliza Doolittle when, arriving home after an evening selling flowers, her preparation for bed was to remove her skirt and blouse, add them to the pile of clothes and shawls on the bed and climb in underneath them. Well, so I remember from reading the play 40 years ago anyway.

On Saturday morning I still had the kitchen ceiling to paint and the kitchen cupboards and floor to clean, as well as photographs to take for an inventory (still to be written), the downstairs passageway floor to wash and the stairs to give a final coat of paint. I tidied everything away, took my bags downstairs and my final action was to paint my way down the stairs. My hands were dirty but I couldn't do anything about it; I wiped them on my jeans, changed, texted Dandelion to say I was on the way, but late, slapped on some emergency make-up and set off.

Too long a post, I'll add the rest of what struck me tomorrow.

Not too late to

by the way. I hope you're all busy making your own bags and sending photos to Ronan.

Hello!

You may have noticed that I stayed away an extra day, but I was back in time to practise the hymns worriedly and, in the five minutes before the service started, choose the incidental music. Then, when it came down to it, I suddenly changed my mind for the closing voluntary and decided to play something flamboyant. Well, wouldn't you?

I've had a very productive few days and now know every inch of the flat extremely well, having painted and cleaned it all. That is, I didn't paint all of it myself as I had some help from a lovely and fabulous friend, who turned up at after 7.30 in the evening, cheerily worked for several hours and then stayed to chat, to the extent that the last bus was gone and she took an extremely expensive taxi. That is, it must have been, but she paid for it so I don't know.

I finally gave the stairs their second coat of paint, having presciently brought all my stuff downstairs, and changed into clean clothes in the hallway. Of course, I couldn't wash my painty hands, so had to wipe them on my jeans before changing. I was, by then, half an hour later than the latest I'd meant to me, so I arrived at my next destination half an hour late as well.

I don't usually arrive at parties dotted with paint, but endeavored to behave as if my appearance was normal and everyone was too polite to say anything about it, and I had an extremely jolly time. Sadly, I had to leave early (terribly rude, arriving late and leaving early) to catch my train. I hope I shall be forgiven and invited next year, when I shall be better prepared and take scones and strawberry jam, or maybe Party Rings and a bar of chocolate.

I have been on the receiving end of vast hospitality and kindness. Thank you, dear Dandelion.

Z is a New Broom

One only has to do one thing before the deadline to feel brisk, efficient and on top of things. If only I were. But I have renewed my car tax, a week early, because I have a feeling it won't be at the top of my to-do list when I get home and I'll forget. I've also remembered to send my friend (from schooldays) Lynn a birthday present, which is not bad going for me. It's not unusual to send it apologetically on the day itself. She is exactly a fortnight younger than I am. Furthermore, I wrote a report for tonight's meeting yesterday. This is almost without precedent.

I am also about to book a short holiday for next April. I'm not sure what's coming over me. It's with the same society I went to Madrid with, and I was unsure if I'd be able to join them as it might have clashed with our next sale date, but the Sage has said he'll change the date so that I can go. It saves me wistfully asking him if he fancies a holiday next year (which he won't), but is very sweet of him.

Right. I must get on. This feeling of getting things done mustn't be dissipated by spending the afternoon blogging.

Picture of Zerlina! (and a paper bag)

Weeza has put up a fabulous picture on Ro's site, which is
if you've forgotten about it. Do go to the Gallery and look at the Flickr pictures - I think you might know which one it is. Ro hadn't even asked them to make a bag because he thought they wouldn't want to bother, with a 5 week old baby and all.

I've been busy on paperwork today, with more to do but the worst is done. I must spend a fair bit of tomorrow cooking, because I've promised to stock up Weeza and Phil's freezer again.

I also need to think what I'm going to take to London, and I'm wondering if I can really work fast and spare Friday afternoon to go to the Goldsmiths’ Fair. I don't know, there's a lot to do, but it's marvellous, really - do go along if you have time (and can get to the City of London, obv). There are loads of things to see and the prices are by no means outrageous. Everything is designed and made by the exhibitors - I can't enthuse enough. It started today and next week there are a whole new lot of exhibitors. I really do want to go. It's open until 7 in the evening, so if I can work hard on Thursday and Friday and finish for the day before 4, it would be possible. There's only four rooms, how hard can it be? Oh, and the landing, hall and two staircases. Hm.

I'd better get back to work. Laters, dearests.

Z is to live like a Hermit

Yes well, we were a bit dilatory in getting the flat sorted out - there are a few minor things to attend to but we thought we'd have plenty of time before we got a tenant in, but we had a phone call from the agent yesterday afternoon, three days after being engaged to find a tenant, to say that someone wants to move in on 29th September, which is Monday week We'd said to Weeza and Phil not to worry about redecorating, we'd do it. Er. This means me, next week. Fortunately, and rarely, I have three days that I can clear, so I'm planning to go up on Wednesday evening and stay until Saturday, hope to finish by lunchtime, go to a social (blog-related but not a blogmeet) occasion and get home on Saturday evening.

I think it will be a bit odd really. The flat is completely empty, though the water and electricity are still on. I shall take an inflatable bed and a sleeping bag but nothing to sit on, nothing to amuse myself with apart from a book and radio. A kettle and mug and plate but nothing to cook with. When I finish working I will go out for dinner and if I want a break in the day I'll go to the pub, but that's it. No one to talk to, nothing to do but work or lie on the bed reading. I feel a bit lonely already at the prospect, and yet it surely will be pretty unstressful. I will go to quite low-key places to eat, being on my own, and I will just get on with the work and chat in a friendly way to myself and argue with the radio. I must remember to charge up the iPod.

Oh, and the stairs need repainting. That day, I won't be going anywhere.

Linking, lurking and liking

Since the only people I link to on my sidebar are my sons, I felt that I was going rather too far in asking you to link to Ro's new site. I vastly appreciate your good nature in overlooking my non-linking and, yourselves, linking to Ro. I did explain my non-linking decision some 15 months ago and I'll draw your attention to it, as it still applies - here it is.

Having added lots more blogs that I read and enjoy since I wrote that post, there are far too many to be able to link to without a load of differentiation and explanation. I have over 150 blogs which I subscribe to on Bloglines - yes I know, what can I say? However, some of them haven't been updated for ages - for all I know, some of those may have been removed, I ought to check some time. Others are people whom I like very much but who very rarely write, but I don't want to lose touch in case they do update. Of the rest, I do call in to everyone whether I comment or not. It may be a week or two sometimes in between visits (unread posts are running at several hundred at present) but I never mark them all as read and start again, I do catch up.

I'll now spend the next ten minutes reading your posts as I put on my Sunday face. Have a good day, everyone.

Harvest Supper

The children behaved impeccably (that they did not sin seems quite appropriate for a churchy sort of doo). They happily did jigsaws until it was time for dinner, ate their dinner nicely (Pugsley did make a slug on the tablecloth out of half a bread roll, some ham and some cucumber, but he was quite tidy about it. At the end, he decided it was a ladybird and ate it) and joined in with conversations cheerfully and politely.

It was a jolly evening all told. There were thirty of us and have I mentioned (this is a conversational nicety, Dave; I have) that I did not have to help with the arrangements at all? I did make a bread-and-butter pudding, which I sampled (along with a few other puds) to make sure it was good. It contained a loaf of buttered bread, two and a half pints of milk, eight bantam eggs and sultanas, sugar and vanilla essence. Ten minutes before we were due to leave, I took it out of the bottom oven, discovered it was still runny in the centre and shoved it back in the top (hot) oven again - it was ready by the time we were.

Interesting developments regarding the flat in London; it seems the agent has Pulled His Finger Out and found a tenant. Rapid redecorating required. More news on that to follow.

I did a splendidly large pedestal flower arrangement and a smaller one to balance it to go on the altar, and have draped grapes still attached to the vine around a cross, arranged a home-made loaf against it and will add a jug of wine tomorrow. Lots of flowers and greenery were brought as well as plenty of fruit, vegetables and packeted and tinned food, all carefully arranged. The village schoolchildren made paper flowers to decorate the pew ends. The church looks cared for.

I don't have to play the organ tomorrow, but I do next week, when the Bishop is coming. Hmm. The Rector has promised to let me have the hymns by Monday evening. It'll be fine. At the worst, the Bishop will have a fine opportunity to practise Christian virtues of tolerance and forgiveness. Moi, je suis une autocrate. C'est mon metier. Le bon Dieu me pardonnera. C'est son metier*," as Catherine the Great (reference books disagree, but she's the earliest credited) said. That fortifies me quite often, when I've fallen by the wayside in a metaphorical sort of way.

Thanks to those who have sent photos to Ro's website. He is really pleased - he wasn't sure if anyone would, and that you've gone to so much trouble is very lovely and warming.

*I didn't check it and I rarely write in French. You're welcome to correct it.

Fruitful mellowness

They've been on the wholesaler's list for a while now, but Al didn't order them until now. Brussels sprouts. I didn't buy them, much as I like sprouts they are late autumn and winter fare for me - I don't really think it's time for a sprout until after the first frost.

However, I came home, for the second day running, with a bag of fresh walnuts and I have eaten more of them than I care to admit to (not all of them though, we all love them). Indeed, I ate very little for lunch so that I could overindulge this evening. I will ascend a ladder this weekend to pick Bramley apples and I have been picking squashes - not finished that job, it made my back ache and I got bored at 86 squashes, with 20 or more still to go. They will not take us through the winter, although I will keep some, but Al will sell most of them and make a Handsome Profit.

It seems appropriate that this weekend we will celebrate Harvest Festival. There is to be a jolly supper tomorrow, and I am making a bread and butter pudding, but otherwise I've had no part in its organisation. Isn't that splendid? Three people offered to take it in hand, so I've left them to it, thus proving that I can. I am, however, helping to decorate the church tomorrow, mainly with vegetables and fruit. Did I ever tell you that, for Al and Dilly's wedding party, the marquee was decorated with baskets of vegetables? They looked gorgeous. Colourful and beautiful and completely appropriate.

I am doing a big arrangement of flowers too; the person I intended to ask has had to go away this week, because her father has died suddenly. Luckily I hadn't said anything so she hasn't had the worry of having to ring me to back out.

Still making bags, of course. I said that it's a competition between Ro and his employers; however it takes some time for results to show up in Google rankings, so don't expect news on that front for two or three months.

Thanks

Ro is really pleased that so many people have visited his site and thanks you very much. It led one of his employers back here - I thought it might. I have never met either of them and now I think I'm a bit reluctant to; not that he took it amiss or that I said anything out of turn. As if, dears, as if. Ro was able, truthfully, to say that he's never read this blog - he makes a point of it in fact. Better not to know, is his attitude.

And thanks to Dandelion for pointing out places where the instructions could be better explained. We've known about these bags for so long and, although we haven't made any before, we've watched Al's twinkling fingers so many times that we hardly needed the instructions, so it was really helpful to have someone completely new to it have a go.

If you make a bag as a gift bag, maybe in a larger or smaller size (broadsheet newspaper, sheet of wrapping paper, magazine pages) then I'd try it with a tabloid size newspaper, according to the instructions, first and then do it again, adjusting by eye. The reinforcement at the top - the cardboard strips - are only needed to strengthen the handles so aren't needed if it's for something very light.

Weeza and Zerlina came over this afternoon. Little z is one month old today. She has gained more than a pound in weight now and is awake a lot more of the time. She looks around and waves her arms and legs and her expression certainly changes when she sees her mother. You can see the loving recognition in her face. She seems to like me and usually falls asleep on me after a few minutes. I looked after Squiffany and Pugsley this afternoon too, and we all played hide and seek in the garden, including z. Won't it be lovely when all the cousins are old enough to play together? This is a great garden for hide and seek. I used to do treasure hunts for my children, with cryptic clues appropriate to their then ages. That was good for birthday parties too. One year, I did a picnic birthday tea in the garden on rugs, which was a step into informality too far for 6 year olds. Most of the food was trodden into the rugs. Still, at least I never lost any of the children which was quite good going. Mind you, I could run pretty fast in those days.

The Newspaper Bag Project

R works for a company which does web development. It is a very small company, run by two people and Ro is their only employee. He's been there about a year, he likes it very much, because he likes the work, he gets on well with his bosses and he appreciates their high standards - it being such a small company means that every detail is carefully checked and got right. Ro has no problem when it's his work being checked - if there's anything that can be improved he'd rather someone found it before it's gone online.

They have tried to employ more people, but it seems that they haven't found anyone yet who will fit in so well as Ro. And they look after him, taking him out to lunch once or twice a week, sometimes booking him in for a back and neck massage so that the hours spent at his desk don't get to him and if, on a Friday afternoon, all the week's work has been done, it's not unknown for them all to spend the last hour playing online games against each other. But then, Ro will often spend an evening working on some tricky detail of programming that he would like to improve.

So, the most recent bit of fun that they've come up with is for each of them to set up a website and see who can get highest in the Google rankings. The two of them both came up with highly technical and very clever ideas, but Ro, who maybe is a bit less of a geek, went at it from the other end and thought how to get people to link to him, because apparently that's the best way to get a good score. Having done Al's greengrocer site, he went for the paper bag idea.

So, please, will you go to his site and join the newspaper bag project. As a bonus, you get a photo of Ro, his boss's cat, my bicycle and, in the video, the sight of Al actually making one of his wonderful paper bags. Look out for glimpses of Squiffany, who was very interested in the whole thing.

And then, if you could have a go at one of the bags, please send him a photo, because that will be the entertaining and interactive bit.

And then, I'd be most grateful if you would put a link on your own site, and if you could consider linking to him (just for a few weeks) on your sidebar, that would be even kinder. He wants to win, but I want him to have to acknowledge that bloggers are totally lovely, because I still get teased about blogging.

I'm not sure about a prize, because he hasn't quite worked out how to do the judging. But there is one in it for him, so maybe we should put him under some pressure if he wins?

Oh, and when you send in your picture, would you be kind enough to mention me, so that he knows whom he should appreciate?

Thanks, darlings. Lots of love, as always. MWAH!

Today

I found it a bit hard to get going this morning and lurched out of doors and into the car a bit later than usual. It was probably that which made me not notice the car seats in the back until I'd parked in Norwich. I phoned Dilly (at least I'd remembered to stuff my freshly-charged phone in my bag) to apologise and offer to come home again in time to return Squiffany's seat in time to get her to nursery school at 12.30. Dilly, being always kind and relaxed, said it wouldn't hurt Squiff to miss school for once, especially as she's not 100% at present, having a cold.

Later, she got online and ordered a couple more seats - the present ones will only fit Squiffany for a little while longer. There can be two in Dilly's car and two in mine, or else one in mine and one in Al's van and swap about. It's a bit difficult to remember as Dilly works Monday, Wednesday and Friday one week and Tuesday and Thursday the other. It's dawned on them how much more she can earn as a teacher than Al does as a greengrocer and they are pondering a bit.

Anyway, another splendid lecture, about the workmanship of the treasures of Sutton Hoo and the king who is (most probably) buried there - or rather was, the acid soil destroyed his bones. His name was Raedwald (pronounced Radwald; if you can do a nice gutteral thing on the R - that is, Hradwald - then all to the good). The fine workmanship on the jewellery, on belt, scabbard, epaulettes, bag etc, which is gold inlaid with garnets, has been replicated but not by the original methods. They do not know how these early Angles worked the garnets with such precision, cut and faceted and inlaid in their gold setting. They are done so precisely that there was no padding to keep them in place and they are as perfect now as they were in about 625.

Ah. The headteacher of the village school has just called round. She wanted to tell me, at the time she told the parents, that she has just handed in her resignation, although she won't be leaving until the end of this academic year, next July. She wants to move nearer her family, in short. I haven't been a governor there for a couple of years, but I was one for 18 years and she says she still thinks of me as part of the school and wanted to keep me in touch.

I wish I could tell you all about the circumstances preceding her appointment but I can't. I actually signed a confidentiality document, so I really can't. Sue has been a fabulous head and has brought the school through some difficult times (mainly staff illness, there was some dreadful bad luck there) and it won't be easy to find someone of her quality.

This post doesn't really go anywhere, does it? I will have something specific to talk about tomorrow though, when I will ask for your help and it will involve Ro. No, he is not causing problems. He's fine.