Wet newspaper

I woke up early, having had another disturbed night.  I don't care for these mild nights.  It's January and supposed to be cold, and I keep waking up.  I've reached the stage of tiredness that I soon fall asleep again, and it all adds up.  I do love a good sleep however, and I think I'll soon be due for one.

When I did wake for good (well, not quite as it turned out), the Sage was still asleep so I played cards and so on, until I started to receive emails, and answered them - some people do get going early in the day, I'm sure they weren't all on their iPhones.  I faffed about on Facebook for a while too, and generally was mildly sociable.  Then the Sage woke up, wrapped his arms around me, we hugged and both fell asleep.

And so, by the time we got up, it was raining and the newspapers were soaked.  I put them on the Aga to dry out and they are thoroughly crinkly.  We spent the morning on the computers and the phones, a good three hours.  I was surprised at how busy we were.  One call after another, on various subjects.  I'm awaiting some replies, but have dealt with most things, which was not bad.  I haven't written up the notes from Friday's meeting, mind you.

This afternoon, I went to visit John in hospital.  It's actually the very top of the humerus that he broke - "the ball broke right off - not in the sense that it was rolling round the room though," as he cheerfully put it.  He had been hoping to come home very soon, but is becoming aware that he is finding it hard to get up and move around.  He may come to the local cottage hospital, which would be ideal.  I've said, I'll keep in touch with his wife and visit him again soon, wherever he is.  He's rather wishing he'd bought the iPad when we went to Norwich, as he could do with it now.  I've said, if he wants me to go and buy it for him, I'll be very happy to do so.  Indeed, I'd enjoy it.

I started to write a post about school finance, but I have found myself giving a lecture.  I don't suppose you all want to know about the Age Related Pupil Allowance and the Standards Fund.  I shall have to start again.

Tomorrow, Year 9 Music.  I'm looking forward to it, including the school lunch.

Shouldering the burden

My friend John, the one I went with to look at iPads, has broken his shoulder.  Apparently he fell in his bedroom.  It happened on Friday and he's in hospital in Norwich.  They intend to pin it, but haven't yet.  He has rheumatoid arthritis and, because of the steroids he takes for that, has a compromised immune system, so any operation gives cause for concern.

On the other hand, Andy has moved to the local hospital where there's a brilliant physiotherapy department and much more one-to-one care, and he's managing to walk across the room on a walking frame and with help.  Gill says it's starting to hit her, the long-term implications of all this and how much of the burden will be on her shoulders for the next few years.  And yet, I am sure she will cope.  She and Andy love each other dearly and there will be no sense in which he's a burden on her.  They will both give up their stressful jobs, she's looking for a new one, part-time and unstressful (she's brilliant, if I wanted a PA/bookkeeper/administrator I'd not advertise, I'd ask her) and I think that, once there is real progress in Andy's condition, she will focus on looking after him.  He will need her time, and she needs to slow down and get off the treadmill.

As I typed that, I thought, I could do with some music and opened up Spotify and looked up 'What's New'.  On a whim, I clicked on 'The Essential Tony Bennett'.  Blimey, that's soothing.  Gosh, one track and I'm so relaxed that my muscles aren't working and I've started to drool.  In a good way, honestly I'm so mellow now, and I'm sure that the wine glass in front of me hasn't a thing to do with it.  Anyway, relaxing is good, as long as you're in a position to accept it.  I can see that something so easy-listening might drive me nuts on a brisker day - and usually does.  In fact, I'm not sure that this mellowness indicates the real me.  Wouldn't it be worrying if people liked Zzzz better than Zizz?

I thought of Gill, and the one-time me, when I was reading yesterday's Times.  Sorry, can't link as The Times online is now subscription-only, but The University of Queensland has done studies that indicate that the more stress you're under, the more you crave.  When we're under stress, the body releases painkilling opiates to compensate, apparently, and you can get hooked on that.  I don't know about that, I think that it depends on whether you have power with the responsibility.  I think that the stress connected with being in control is - I don't like to use the word 'addictive' unless it's literally so - irresistible and feeds on itself.

The next bit of the article, quoting, from British psychologist Guy Claxton, came home to me much more.  When we're under pressure, we do 'fast thinking'.  It is rational, analytical, linear and logical.  But for strategic, creative ideas, only relaxed 'slow thinking' will be really effective.  I absolutely go along with that.  When really pushed, I feel myself in a different gear.  I whip around, twice as fast as everyone else, knowing exactly what needs to be done and automatically slotting everything into its most efficient place.  No danger of realising that something should have been started an hour ago or it won't be ready in time - I'll have done it.  I know what takes longer, what relies on someone else getting back to me, what to hold in reserve as 'desirable but not essential', that can be dropped if necessary.  But I can't do that all the time.

What Gill is and I was in thrall to is an inability to let go.  When barely in control, you can't bear to let anything go.  You know that you can cope, but if you pass on something to another person and they don't do it, or don't do it well, you know you'll have to pick up the pieces.  If you do it from the start, you know you can rely on yourself.  This feeling escalates, and the more you do, the more 'fast thinking' you do and other people are intimidated out of offering, and you start to feel indispensable.  Which you're not.  No one is, and thankfully Andy's body has put him out of action in a manner that he can recover from, more or less (no one's sure of the extent of his recovery yet, but there's a lot of hope).

I learned that lesson by the sudden death of a dear friend.  It was nine years ago,- that is, it will  be in June.  This friend had a heart attack and, in seconds, he was no more.  That was how I became chairman of governors at the village school, because I had been his Vice (ahem).  He'd been chairman or treasurer of everything in the village, and a most beloved friend, husband, father and grandfather too.  He is still greatly missed.  But, in practical terms, he who had looked after everything was gone, and the rest of us had to pick up the pieces - at the school, it was the worst possible time, and I genuinely was the only one who knew enough to take over.  So, I will always have a team.  If in charge, I'll not keep it to myself and I will prepare my exit strategy, almost from the start.  If not, I'll support the person who is, so that they aren't driven to the brink and don't feel isolated.

I didn't know I was going to write all that when I sat down.  Gosh.  Sorry.  I'll tell you more about school finances later, or maybe tomorrow.  The Sage has just got home, he's been to visit Big Pinkie.

Marking benches

I've been geekily looking through figures this afternoon.  The benchmarking figures, which are now in the public domain, give the income and expenditure of every state-run school, also the proportion of income spent in various categories, such as teachers and other staff, heating, learning resources, and the expenditure per pupil.  It also gives the position in the league tables.  I've got a list of all the Suffolk schools.  It's very interesting to see that, on the whole, the schools that spend most per pupil tend to be in the lower half of the results table.  This doesn't in the least stop the Local Authority pumping more money into failing schools, at the expense of succeeding ones, even though it doesn't, in itself, improve results.

I had a phone call from Weeza, asking me to babysit next Thursday.  It's not terribly convenient, actually, as it'll mean me missing my lunch club (you did know I'm a Lady Who Lunches?) and a school committee meeting, but I said I'd rather help her out, so I'll send apologies for both.  In fact, it doesn't suit her very well either, so she'll see if she can alter the appointment, but as she works three days a week she hasn't got much flexibility in her timings.

I'm reluctant to admit it, but I've almost had enough of faffing about and relaxing.  I'm completely unstressed and it's a bit dull.  Back in that week between Christmas and the New Year, I enjoyed being able to do whatever I wanted, or not do anything at all, but I've almost reached the limit of pleasure in that.  I'd like to make it clear that I have stayed strong and not succumbed to anything dreadfully worthy and sensible like turning out the linen cupboard or sorting out the kitchen cupboards, but I can see such a fate beckoning unless I rapidly become too busy to consider doing any such thing.

Zatisfaction

I went to see the Headteacher this morning.  We usually have a weekly meeting, unless he's too busy or not a lot is happening  and that can be easily communicated by email.  Last week's was about a particular topic, so this was the first time we'd got together over school events.  One little moment for rejoicing was the confirmation, with the publishing of school league tables this week, that our school is sixth in Suffolk, including private schools.  We allowed ourselves a moment of satisfaction, before discussing how we could do better this year.  I don't have much to say for league tables, they reflect rather than guide what we do, and we don't play to them, but we might as well be pleased when they show how well the pupils and teachers do.

Anyway, at one point we were talking about Krakow (relevant to school matters, but in a personal moment, because we'd both been there) and we agreed how much we'd loved it and want to go again.  I mentioned the food - look, if you ever think of going to Poland, be hungry.  Gosh, they can cook.  He told me in detail about a soup/stew, served in a hollowed out loaf of bread, that he ate slower and slower because he didn't want the meal to end.  "We tried to cook it at home, but it wasn't the same," he said.

Anyway, it was just a two-minute digression and we got back to school matters, but it made me think, what wonderful meals I've had in other countries, particularly ones where short-cuts haven't yet become the norm.  So, all those fabulous soups started with home-made stock.  The best chicken stew I've ever eaten was in Delhi.  Not the meatiest, but absolutely the tastiest.

Which reminds me, the Sage is cooking dinner tonight.  I arrived home at quarter past five (not from the school, I went from there to a meeting at Bury St Edmunds) and made a cup of tea for both of us.  I also had a piece of toast and Marmite.  I was really hungry.  Since then, I've had an apple and a satsuma and I'm still hungry.  I had a poached egg on toast for breakfast, with the result that I wasn't hungry at noon, when I had to have a quick lunch before leaving for Bury.  So, toast and Marmite (all those B vitamins are very good for you) and some plain yoghurt, but it wasn't quite sustaining enough to last me all afternoon.  Andy's jelly babies are still in the car, and it took some willpower not to eat some of them on the way home.  I did use the willpower however, because if I'd opened the box, I'd probably have eaten half a pound of them. Better not start.

Anyway, i made tea and, as we were drinking it, asked the Sage what he'd bought for dinner tonight - he had offered to do the shopping today as I was going out.  "Lamb chops," he said.  "I'm cooking them."

Readers, darling, I married him.  And I *totally* would again.

Z the unwinder

I didn't go to visit Andy today, but this was good news.  Gill sent me a text mid-morning to say that he was going to be taken to the local cottage hospital this afternoon.  I haven't heard more since, but I presume all has gone as planned, and it will be lovely for both of them.  It's a more relaxed, less hospital-like atmosphere and only a couple of miles from their house, so she can pop in and out much more easily.  No car parking charges and more relaxed visiting times.  The physiotherapy department is excellent, I went there a couple of years ago and had several ultrasound treatments and massages, and was given exercises to do (I must get those out again, I suspect they would do me good.  I remember several of them, but not all).

Now I have a box of jelly babies in the car, which call to me.  It only now occurs to me that I could have dropped them in at the hospital as a little welcome present to him.

I was out early this morning - not early by the standards of many of you, but it was unusual for me - because I had an appointment for a haircut at 8.30.  I thought I'd be the first customer, but my friend Carol was just being finished when I arrived.  "I'll show you the back," said Jo.  "No, don't bother, it'll be fine," said Carol. I asked if Jo had ever been told it wasn't fine, and she acknowledged that once, when she was a trainee, the customer had spoken out.  It was awful, she (Jo) had cried.  I didn't probe.  Because that's a pretty horrid word (in its Latin sense, yay!) and I didn't want to pile on the remembered agony.  Anyway, my hair was fine, and I was told I looked particularly smart and attractive (by the lady of the shop, not her husband) when I went into the sweet shop afterwards to buy the jelly babies.

A friend is on holiday with her family, all of them having had a really difficult few months.  Their difficult time (a bereavement) is more recent than the death of my mother, and other horrible things, that had happened when Weeza and I went to India for the wedding of her friend Kavitha seven years ago - almost exactly seven years, I think we left at the end of January.  I hope that they are finding it as healing a process as I did.  After an enjoyable, but very busy week of wedding parties, Weeza and I flew to Kerala for a second week, of relaxation and calm.  We spent as much per night in the hotels as we'd spent in a week in Madras (that is, £60 per night for two instead of £60 per week) and pottered around seeing sights and having a wonderful time.  We rode elephants, bareback (elephants' backs) and fed them bananas, we had a wonderful trip on the backwaters and pottered about and sunbathed.  It was the only holiday in my whole life when I did nothing that wasn't relaxing.  I'm not a sunbathing person (actually, I never moved out from the shade of an umbrella, come to think of it, I sunshadebathed).  I told Weeza, that week healed me.

Not quite actually, it took another two and a half years, but it certainly started the process.  It was the most deliberately relaxing week of my life, and was a revelation.  I've been able to wind down more quickly and completely ever since.  All down to Weeza.  She's brilliant.

Trying to keep up standards

I called on Gill's mum this afternoon. Andy is feeling rather better, and looking forward to coming to our local cottage hospital as soon as there is a bed for him.  He has been home for the day several times, which has really cheered him and Gill.  I'm going to visit him tomorrow.  Gill's mum is delightful.  She loves to chat and there is never a silent moment.  She is happy for it to be a conversation rather than a monologue and she's always interesting, but there is certainly never an awkward pause.

Dilly went for a scan today, which has established that all is well with the baby.  She and Al were surprised at the equipment, which is more impressive even than it was five years ago.  Well, than three years ago, when Weeza was expecting Zerlina.  Al said that the detail was amazing, the doctor could zoom in on every heart valve, everything.

Tonight, I was looking for something to do with leftover chicken.  I ended up with a spaghetti, chicken and spinach number.  Nigel Slater said it was plenty for four, so I halved the recipe ...  and ended up with enough for four.  It's apparent what we'll be having for lunch tomorrow.  It's pretty well the Turkey Tetrazzini that, if you're my age, you might remember from the 60s, but with a few alterations.  The spinach, for a start.

You were so sweet about the little hen, though I'm sure some of you also thought - 'but it's only a chicken and these people aren't even vegetarians' - and indeed, as I said, we ate chicken tonight.  But it's different with a pet.  Anyway, the Sage brought her home and has buried her.  We really are going to have to get a cockerel this year I think, she was one of the youngest, the cock having been killed by a dog two and a half years ago.  It'll put the cock pheasant's beak out of joint, but we can't help that.  We've had these chickens over twenty years and we don't want them gradually dying of old age with no young ones to replace them.

None of these are twenty years old, obviously.  I mean, we first got our little flock that long ago.  Did I tell the story, I wonder?  I'd better look back.  Because if not, I've got a whole day with no need to think of a theme.

*checks*  Oh.  I did.  Here you go.  It's a long time ago, I could probably have got away with writing it all again.  April 2006

11111

An even better date to come in ten months' time.  Won't we bloggers rejoice?

The vets became fond of Dotty in the short time she was there.  A trusting little hen, and Angela the vet thinks it was her breathing rather than her heart that gave out.  It was a stressful experience for her, after all.  She was in some pain from her foot, we couldn't have left it.  Angela said that her assistant cried when Dotty died, which I found quite upsetting.

I've been to a three-hour long training session on Safeguarding this afternoon.  The number of these that I've been to over the years, and heard about the same tragic, though rare, occurrences when a child is treated so badly that its death results in an official enquiry and new rules or guidelines.  But, however rarely, it still can happen again.  Still, it was a very good lesson of its sort and I'm better informed (although, as ever, none the wiser).

That's been about it today, I don't think I've anything else to tell you.

I arrived home to find an answerphone message cancelling a meeting this afternoon that no one had told me was on.  Just as well, I'd not have felt able to give apologies so would not have done the training, and then would have been quite miffed at its cancellation.  I've become completely hopeless again, I've turned down a social engagement because of a school one next week, and the next one isn't until next month.  Well, there's the Car Club Christmas dinner next week, but I hardly know the people who go, I only go because the Sage is.

It's not, of course, that I can't arrange anything for fun, I'm not that busy, just that other things take priority. I notice it once in a while and take myself in hand, but sometimes it's too much effort.  Must be that January feeling.

Oh, and the other news item is that the Sage is having his annual 24 hours blood pressure monitoring.  He whirrs and bleeps every 15 minutes.  He's offered to sleep in the spare room, but I'd rather sleep with him, even whirring and bleeping.

Sad news

Sorry, folks, to be the bearer of bad news, but the little bantam didn't come round after the operation.  Thanks for your good wishes, the Sage is very touched that you care.

Pullet and see

The Sage was worried.  One of his favourite chickens had a problem.

I should mention that he has thirty chickens.  Every one of them he has known since egghood.  Some of them, he delivered.

You see, a chick in the shell has a little sticky-out bit on its beak called an egg-tooth, but sometimes the eggshell is a bit too hard or dry and the tooth wears away before the chick has broken through the shell. It is very tricky, being midwife to a bird, because it is very likely that you will crack through the wrong part of the egg and damage the unhatched chick.  What you do, you put the egg in water, and the end that is on top when it bobs up is where the air-sac is.  You can, very carefully, scratch away with a scalpel and ease through that part without damaging the main part of the egg, and so, continuing to be terribly careful, remove fragments of shell until the chick is able to help itself.  The Sage has this delicacy of fingerwork and the patience needed to do this midwifery successfully.

Anyway, back to Bantam Chicken, Female, 2 Years Old, as she is registered at the local vet, the Very Wets.  She had been limping for a few days, and finally the Sage managed to persuade her to be picked up, and he found that one toe had been bleeding and the end of it was angled wrongly.  It looked as if she'd caught it in some netting, whether wire or plastic, and it had been partly cut through and the bone broken.  The Sage was terribly upset and, trustingly, brought her to me for a cure.  I took one look, it was well past my abilities.  I phoned the vet.

The Sage put her in a box, which had contained trays of eggs from Happy Hens of Hoxne, and she went to sleep until we took her out at the vet's.  It was one of the principal vets we saw, impressively, and she cleaned the toe and said that she was afraid it needed to be amputated.  We knew that, we'd thought maybe she'd just whip it off with sharp clippers (chickens aren't big on feeling pain), but no.  Bantam Chicken Female, or Dotty for short, will have to have an anaesthetic.  "It'll be done tomorrow morning," said Angela, "you can leave her here overnight or bring her back in the morning."

I spared the Sage from looking overanxious and took on that rôle myself.  "Will she be operated on first thing?" I asked.  "I wouldn't want her to have to wait, with other animals around, she'd be frightened."  The operation won't be done before 11 o'clock.  Dotty (which is actually short for Dot and Carry One) is asleep in her box in the porch right now.  The Sage will take her in tomorrow and pace the floor until he knows that she has survived the operation, and then she will have the run of the greenhouse for a few days until she has healed.

What I liked, neither the receptionist nor the vet acted as if we were making too much fuss at all.  Because we weren't.  And even if we were, she's worth it.

Last night, Z couldn't get to sleep at all...

I was in bed well before midnight, too.  Very boring.  I read, I played games.  Scored 122 in one move on iPhone Scrabble, but I can't remember either of the words involved.  I finally fell asleep some time after 4.15 and was woken three hours or so later by Radio 4 playing Boney M, which was annoying.  I hate it when Radio 4 plays music in the morning, I like to wake up to the droning of voices.  It was the early service, but my good friend Sybil had kindly said she'd do my sidesman duties, as I'd be going to the 11 o'clock service, so I went back to sleep for another hour.  It's a funny thing, that however much I can't sleep at night, I always can when it would be a reasonable hour to get up.  I have, at least, resolutely not had a daytime nap today, in the hope of being thoroughly exhausted tonight.

When I woke the second time, I heard Zerlina talking in her bedroom.  Her father went to fetch her and I heard her cheerfully piping voice chatting to him about the rocking horse in his and Weeza's room.  I did poached eggs for breakfast, two of them new-laid this morning.  The Sage went out to fetch the eggs from the nest boxes.  It was a crisply frosty morning, but the sun shone and it was a beautiful day.  Much more invigorating than the dreary rain we had on Friday.

Weeza and co left mid-morning, so that Zerlina could have her lunch and her nap at home and they'd get some weekend stuff done, and Wink left after lunch.  She was going to call on her step-son and his wife on her way home, north of London.  She hasn't phoned yet to say she's safely home, but we're expecting a call in the next half-hour.  Interestingly, she has also, indignantly, decided to boycott The Archers from now on.  She didn't know I'd said the same thing as she rarely has a chance to read the blog any more - she spends the day largely at the computer at work, so has given up her home Broadband as she doesn't really want to look at a screen in the evening too.  She says she's been listening for 45 years, but this has done it for her - why, she asked dramatically, does one 'celebrate' 60 years of a programme by killing off the most delightful character?  Why kill anyone?

Mind you, I was thinking of 45 years ago.  A teenager in the mid-sixties.  The Swinging Sixties.  "I know," thought Wink. "I'll start listening to a radio soap on the Home Service."  We were rarely cutting edge, Wink and me.

Land of Poo

I've had a really busy evening.  It's only 11 o'clock and I'm tired out.  I had the bright idea of feeding the children at 5.30, with nibbles and wine for us, and then we having dinner at 7.30 when Zerlina was in bed. A good idea, but it needed a lot of rushing about.  It had all gone so well during the day too, because I'd got everything prepared, it was just a matter of putting things in the oven at the right times and keeping an eye on them.

And it did work.  Everyone started to arrive at 5, and in due course we opened Christmas presents, the children ate (I'd gone for easy options, sausages and baked beans, ice cream and cake) and I served the smoked salmon and little cheesy numbers.  Soon after 7, Zerlina asked to go to bed.  I know, it's true though, Weeza has a child who knows when she's tired, rather than getting irritable but denying it, and asks for her bed.  Dinner was on the table at exactly 7.30, by which time Squiffany and Pugsley were sitting together in an armchair watching a Nanny McPhee DVD on my computer (the DVD player is on the blink, I'll have to replace it).  But I'd been scurrying about in frenzied fashion getting it all ready by then.

Wink brought some splendid cheeses with her from her local deli, and Ro and I, in particular, tried each of them and compared notes.  One of them was splendidly smelly.  Unfortunately, Wink couldn't remember its name.  There was a ripe local (to her) camembert (Phil described it as "suppurating," and indeed it was oozing over the cheeseboard), a semi-soft goat's cheese, a Cheddar from Cheddar and a couple of others.  I am not sure how I'm going to finish them while they're still at their best, the Sage won't eat much of them.  She also brought a magnum bottle of Crozes Hermitage, which she'd won in a raffle, it having been donated by the local wine merchants.  It was on its way, past its best, but still a fine wine.

Everyone has gone to bed now except the Sage and me.  Ro and Dora went back to Norwich, but all the same, it's not often that six people sleep in this house now.

You have to have seen the film to 'get' the title of the post, but it could relate to the cheese too.

Baby mama

I had my first baby when I was 20.  Physically, this was a very good age.  Emotionally, I was too young.  I'd thought I was not, but it certainly tested my patience, which failed the test and I spent quite a lot of Weeza's first few months in tears, as did she.  Fortunately, the Sage could also be called the Rock.  He looked after us both and I gradually improved.

Nothing daunted, Al was born exactly two years later, their birthdays are two days apart.  This was a different story.  I had got into the swing of things by then, Weeza was an adorable toddler - she was such a dear little girl - and, although we'd just bought a fairly huge house (anyone who has visited here might think this house is not small.  It's so much smaller than our last house, I call this a cottage), I did have a cleaner a couple of mornings a week by then and everything went swimmingly.

Physically, I bounced right back in no time.  Apart from being rather thin - within the acceptable BMI range, but only just - I was extremely healthy and had loads of energy.  In fact, I probably had more energy at that time than I ever had before or since.  I wonder what I was doing right.  My only small problem, because of being so slim, was a tendency to low blood pressure or blood sugar or some such, and if I stood up quickly I sometimes had to sit down again before I fell down, and sometimes I lay flat on the floor to save myself from fainting.

Just as an aside, I don't know how these 'size zero' women live.  I weighed more than 7 1/2 stone and had a tendency to faint, and I was a size 10, which would be an American 6.  Much smaller and I'd have been ill.  I had an extremely healthy diet.

Anyway, after a year or two I put on a few pounds and continued to be fit, healthy and have plenty of energy.  Ro was born when I was 30.  I sailed through pregnancy and birth, but was very surprised to find that having a small baby was far more tiring than last time round.  We'd intended, as there was quite a large gap, to have a fourth child, but changed our minds within weeks.  Like Rog's holiday of a lifetime, never again.  We were too old.

Both Weeza and Dilly were in their thirties when their babies were born.  I don't think they bounced back with as much energy as I did physically, although I'm sure they were a lot more prepared emotionally than I was at the age of twenty.  All three of us were in stable married relationships with supportive partners and families, which must have helped vastly.

Obviously, I'm not going to come to a conclusion here, it depends on so many things.  Being mother to a small child really does take it out of you though, I wonder if one can really prepare for it as we simply don't know what it's like until it happens.  I can tell you, though, being a grandparent is pure pleasure.  Worth having children for, I promise you.

Pearly queens

I met the mother of a schoolfriend of Ro's at the donor clinic this afternoon.  Almost the first thing she said, when we'd said hello, was "I'm going to be a Nanny!"  Her son Chris married a year or eighteen months ago and he and his wife are expecting their first baby.  I've promised to tell Ro, and passed on good wishes from us all - I expect Ro will be a bit startled.  Chris is a year older than he is, but even so, Ro isn't thinking of starting a family any time soon.

Mind you, I've a feeling that the next generation after my children's may be having their babies earlier.  For one thing, I think that all these women who have left it until their mid-thirties to forties before starting a family, and some of them finding it no easy matter, will want, perversely, their grandchildren to be born before they themselves are ancient, and will encourage their children to start families.  It could go the other way, of course, with girls all freezing eggs so that they can have their children late but without the problems of later conception, but I suspect that, when it comes to it, most people instinctively prefer the natural approach.

Anyway, the news of the day is that Wink has arrived, bearing Epiphany gifts.  It being Twelfth Night (twelve days after Christmas, Christmas Day doesn't count), I left the tree.  The family is coming over on Saturday and, as I'm not superstitious, I'd leave the decorations until then, as we'll be opening presents then, but my mother would be cross.  The one time our tree was left, because we were all too ill with Hong Kong flu, was New Year 1970, and my father died later the same month, enough to make anyone superstitious.  I still don't believe the bad luck, but I do believe in the wrath of my mother, so I shall compromise.  I'll take the decorations down tonight and leave the tree, and on Saturday hang chocolate coins from it for the children.  Unless I get fed up in the meantime and haul it out, a girl can always change her mind, of course.

Tomorrow, Wink and I will probably go out for lunch.  We haven't decided where yet.  The county is our oyster.

Z plans to drink a litre of water (a pint and three-quarters, darlings)

I'd reassured myself that my own (left, that is - the Sage owns my right one) hip was fine, by standing on my right leg and drawing my foot up - when it touched my bottom and I felt no pain (apart from kicking myself in the butt), I stopped worrying.  Until last night, when I remembered that tests my knee, not my hip.  So, I've just done the hip test.

Well, the good news is that it made me notice the cobweb on the ceiling, which I have now removed.  The less than good news is that I reckon I will be getting a new left hip in a few years.  Do excuse me while the cyber-air turns blue for a few minutes.  Having had one done, I know that the operation isn't the problem, it's the years in the meantime while it deteriorates enough to be operated on.  And last year was so lovely, I appreciated every little thing that I was able to do again, and the thought of gradual decline is a really unhappy one.

Having said that, it isn't stopping me doing anything yet, I wear heels, I walk fast, I can put my legs pretty well anywhere I want to.  Still, I'll start to save for my 65th birthday or so.  Maybe earlier.

Though, there is other good news.  It seems that my knees are fine.

Anyway, I'll continue to focus on good news.  Winkie is arriving tomorrow, and all the family will be here for Saturday evening.  I have thought of a genuine reason why buying an iPad would be a fine idea (will hang on for the new improved one in the spring, however) and it isn't even self-centred - that is, the Sage would love it for eBay.  Not having to fiddle around with a laptop's control pad or a mouse would be a joy to him.  Even he can manage my phone effortlessly, and my friend John said that he was surprised how easy it was to use.  He especially loved the pinch movement to zoom in and out.

Irritations did happen today, I confess.  I went on a Safeguarding training thingy in November, where I and the Safeguarding (I keep writing Sageguarding!) governor asked about accredited training, and were met with blank stare and told that was it.  Now I've had an email to suggest she and I go on a half-day course next Tuesday, which will cost the school £60 for each of us.  I can, other governor can't.  Well, I can, but I'll have to tell the music teacher I can't go to her lessons, which disappoints both of us.  I think that's enough about being irritated, I've got over the rest...well, I wasn't exactly dismayed about that, it's just that I'm thoroughly disorganised and even I would have got that right, and I'm not paid for competence.

Tomorrow - well, as I said, Wink will arrive, sometime in the afternoon.  In the early afternoon, I'll go to the blood donor clinic.  Indeed, darlings, to give rather than to receive, because 'tis better, unless unavoidable.  I shall remember not to drink wine at lunchtime, but to have lots of water instead.

Evening edition

You'll all be terribly pleased to hear (because you've been worrying all day, thank you darlings) that my balance is fine and my ears are better. I was dizzy because the blockage has shifted, but now it's gone.  I don't know where, I'm not going to think about that too much.

It was quite a long afternoon, but John and I had a very jolly time, having a good old heart-to-heart over lunch and then playing with iPads for a good hour and a half.  He did a bit of his other shopping, but he's not very quick getting about so we didn't do much else.

The Sage spent the afternoon doing an odd job (odd in the odd-job sense, not in any other) and now lights work that didn't, so I have absolutely nothing - nothing, I promise - to grumble about.  He's being totally adorable, I'll have to drop a kind word sometime in the next few days ... ooh, I hear the coffee grinder!  He doesn't even like coffee, so learning to make it as I like it is kindness indeed.

Um...that's about it today.  I don't think I'll keep up this twice-daily thing any longer.  It takes it out of a woman.

The Times crossword is going well.  Half done by ten o'clock this morning (That is, in a few minutes, it took me until 9.30 to prise my eyes open reliably, and longer to get dressed and have breakfast).  Better get back to it.

Will Z ever stop?

Sorry, it's do some housework or blog.

Exactly.

It was too cloudy to see the eclipse, so I went back to bed and slept late.  I have to get back to everyday life tomorrow, but not today.  I am going out today, however.  My friend John and I are going to Norwich, for lunch and shopping.  It takes him a while to get going in the morning, he having rheumatoid arthritis, so we're not leaving until 1 o'clock.

I reminded the Sage that I was going to pick John up, and started to say that I'd back down his drive, as if his and his wife's cars are in the garage, it would be impossible to turn my estate car.  He interrupted, to say that I'd better drive, there wasn't room to manoeuvre backwards.  I said that in that case I'd have to come out backwards, and I'd rather back in - and then realised he thought I was going to say I'd back down the lane, not just the drive.  The Sage indignantly replied that that's what I'd said.

Poor chap.  There are times when I can and do quote a conversation in its entirety.  He 'backed down'* and apologised.

I confess, my temper is slightly short at present.  The ear thing has been a nuisance, and now the blockage has shifted, I feel a bit dizzy.  I'm okay, but being careful not to move my head too quickly.

Wink is due to arrive here on Thursday afternoon, so the clan will gather to celebrate - it'll still be the Christmas season and presents will be exchanged.  I suppose keeping a tree up for that long would be out of the question.  It looks a bit incongruous already.  Anyway, Weeza and co will stay the night, Ro and Do will come for the evening and Al and family will come from next door.  I'll feed the children early so that Zerlina can be put to bed, and then snuggle Squiffany and Pugsley with a DVD while we eat.  I have no idea yet what I am going to cook.

I expect Norwich to be less busy today, it being the day VAT is due to rise.  I suspect a lot of shops will, however, carry the extra themselves while the sales are on, so I don't think the impact will be noticeable for a little while, except on services.  I can understand people buying what they need before it happens, that makes sense, unless they're going to pay for it by credit card and not pay that at the end of the month - the interest will soon outweigh the VAT, and there isn't even the gloomy satisfaction of helping pay off the national debt, but the more dismaying knowledge that one is putting yet more money into bankers' bonuses.

*ooh darlings, will the wit ever start?

Z keeps writing

Maybe this will be the way to go; two posts every other day.  Or maybe not.

We had the card one has every year, we didn't know whom it was from.  There was an affectionate message, three xs and it seemed to be signed Susie and Ian.  Ian was a bit of a squiggle, but the Susies I know aren't married to Ians, nor are the Sues or Susans.  Back in the 50s, lots of girls were called Susan.  I had a few clues, the envelope had been hand-delivered and the tricksy little drawing and message gave a religious air.  I had a vague feeling I'd brought it home from church.  Where I hadn't met Susie.  Or Ian.

It took a long time for the Sage, finally, to think of someone called Ian (apart from the Ian who's married to Caroline).  He said the surname - I replied "Ah.  Could it be Angie, do you think?"  It was.  Still looked like Susie, really.

Yesterday and today, I've felt my age and more so.  The walk on Saturday, it was neither very cold nor windy, but my ears feel as if I've been out in a gale or to a party or gig with loud music.  They feel muffled.  Or rather, sound is muffled.  It had almost worn off by yesterday evening, but was back again this morning.  And, on Saturday night, some of the reason I didn't sleep was that my hips were sore.  Yes, both of them, but differently.  My replaced hip, I could feel both places where my bone was cut off - pain is too strong a word, it's a slightly achy sore feeling.  The other hip, it's exactly where the arthritis started in the first one.  There's a spot, if you press, you can feel it if it's there to feel. I'm not having to press.

I'm not going to take it as a big deal.  The terrain was wet and, in some places, muddy, and I was glad of the support of a walking pole, but I probably held myself stiffly.  I'm going to see the surgeon again and have another x-ray in the next couple of months, I'll mention it.  The worst that happens, I'll have another new hip in five to ten years.  But it may be that I just don't do a lot of walking and, although it was only 3 miles (5 kilometres if you're that way inclined), it was more than usual, in wellies and on wet ground.

Simon, he of the 2.Sox, and a pal of his and I did the Times crossword by text today.  It was most jolly, and I doubt any of the three of us would have completed it alone.  The Christmas/New Year holidays are over from now, it's been restful and enjoyable.  I almost got bored at one or two points, having had enough of a break.  But not quite.

Z stops listening

That didn't work very well, did it?  Two posts on 1st January and none on the second.  I'm not sure what happened there, I thought I'd written one.

It seems that I'm going to quit the habit of thirty-five years.  The radio soap, The Archers, reached its sixtieth anniversary at the weekend, and so a dramatic plot development was promised.  The likely problem was a deeply annoying character named Helen, who was pregnant and obviously riding for a fall - the thing was though that her brother died in a farming accident some years ago and there is already a child in the family whose mother has died, so this made it unlikely they'd be able to bump her off.  So instead, she was rushed to hospital for an emergency Caesarean, immediately following which she's fine and the baby is fine.  Oh.  So instead, they seem to have killed off the most engaging character in the whole programme.  The one with a markedly happy marriage, who is daft but not irritating, who would genuinely be missed by listeners; unlike almost everyone else.  It is possible that falling off a roof might have crippled rather than killed him, but do you know, I don't care.  I'm not listening tonight to find out.

It's been apparent to me for some time that I'm fed up with plot devices.  I've almost given up reading fiction - new fiction, that is.  I'm still rereading classics with pleasure, but I've been disappointed too many times by too many new books.  I don't mind the fairly throwaway novels without pretensions, but the 'literary' sort are too often lazily plotted and either have random plot twists, obvious manipulations or else just end.  A book has to be really good to get away without an ending.  Not necessarily all the loose ends tied up - it can work, to have you wondering what happens afterwards and life isn't neat - but there usually has to have been some point to the whole thing or else it's a waste of time.  And you've got to care about the characters.  Not necessarily to like them, but to find them believable and to be engaged in what happens to them.

I'm really sad about this.  I've been an obsessive reader all my life, and now I'm almost entirely reading non-fiction, and much less of that.  And I'm not unusual in any other way, so I suspect I'm not alone.  And authors won't blame themselves, they'll say that readers are failing them.  But if a book is good enough, I'll be as gripped as ever.  Ebooks are doing people a favour - because out-of-copyright fiction is free to download, there's been a big surge of interest in the classics.   I'm reading my way through Dickens at the moment.  Usually, under the bedclothes in the middle of the night.  It's excellent, not having to have the light on or arms out of bed on a winter's night.

And, as far as The Archers is concerned, it's not a fit of pique.  It's that there are too few people now that I give a damn about.  Most of the older characters are boring and most of the young ones are annoying.  The ones I like have been almost written out and the new main ones don't engage me.  A cliffhanger with Helen might have kept me listening - pre-eclampsia isn't always immediately resolved by the baby's delivery, the baby is six weeks premature and she was warned a few weeks ago that it wasn't developing properly because of her overworking.  But they went down the cosily reassuring route there, to the disappointment of many people who are as irked by Helen as I am.  So, it's easy.  I am not going to be manipulated, I've just switched off.

A sight of an old friend

I've been reading a few of my early blog posts.  Not many, just in the first couple of months.  I haven't that much patience.  Remarkably, I haven't changed the way I write much - well, I didn't say 'darling' in those days, but that was because I didn't know if anyone was reading it.  I signed up with StatCounter after a while, but only after I started getting comments, didn't occur to me to start with.  I never expected anyone to read it.

The reason for this sudden interest in myself - well, I'm always wildly interested in myself, of course, someone has to be - is that I noticed that, although I wrote fewer posts than I have in previous years, I still averaged more than one a day.  I thought I'd finally managed to restrict myself to a single daily epistle in 2010, but evidently not.  And I haven't started this year too well, have I?

There were three routes on offer today, 2.9 miles, 5.5 miles and 8.something miles.  I opted for the short walk, but most people walked further.  I made the right choice, for me, much of it was over sodden ground and, although it wasn't hard going, it was enough for me.  My hip has ached a bit this evening.  Not the ache of arthritis, of course, the soreness of feeling the join.  It was a good walk and a good party though.

I rarely watch television nowadays, but I really enjoyed Eric and Ernie, the dramatisation of Morecambe and Wise's early years.  Worth catching on iPlayer, if you didn't see it.  And now, there's a documentary about them, and the Sage and I were so happy to see our friend Norman Percival, who used to be their pianist.  Once - just once - they had a piano on stage and brought him on as part of the act for a couple of minutes, and they showed that bit a few minutes ago.  Norman died some years ago, it was just lovely to see him again.  The Sage phoned his wife Barbara for a chat just before Christmas.

Z circles

It was freezing, this day last year.  I remember finding it hard to keep my balance in my friends' farmyard, especially when an exuberant dog dashed past and caught my leg.  Today, it's unusually mild.  I opened the bedroom window to check the weather, and so decide what to wear, and there was no difference in temperature between outside and in.

Last year was brilliant, in a lot of ways.  Starting with my own rejuvenation, by means of a new hip, ending with the announcement of another grandchild on the way, and along the way Ro and Dora found happiness together, Weeza and Phil both got new jobs, Al left his and Dilly moved hers slightly sideways in a direction she's enjoying.  The garden wall was completed, but not a lot more was.  The Sage is full of promises, as always, but keener to start on new projects than ever to complete anything.  This is also normal, but we don't fall out over it.  Better to remember what we love and enjoy about each other than to dwell on the bits that try our patience.  His love and care for me when I had my operation are what matter far more than anything else, as they showed his real nature and his real feelings.  And blimey, I'm not sure that I'd manage to live with me all these years if I had an alternative.

The greatest sadness of the year was the death of our dog Tilly, of course.  I have been thinking about death a lot this year.  In January, it was the fortieth anniversary of my father's death, when I was 16 and he was 59, and I've been remembering those lost to us ever since, more sharply than I have for some time.

However, I've always found that a good way of feeling cheerful is to behave cheerfully and, in particular, to write a cheerful blog - I may rant on occasion but, since the early days of this blog, I made a deliberate decision to keep it mainly happy and upbeat.

Of course, when I finally receive the comeuppance that I thoroughly deserve, this may become rather more difficult.  But for now, I remain hopeful.  And I hope that all of us receive what we would most like this year (as long as it doesn't involve unpleasantness to a third party, obv).

And now I'm off for a long country walk with friends.  The same friends I partied with last year, although I couldn't do the walking then.

December leaves, January prepares to bud

I finally went shopping.  First time I'd left here since Christmas Day.  I went to the bank first, to pay in the money from the Christmas services at church - they are really cheerful and helpful, the tellers in our local banks.  Then I went to get some food for the weekend - I could manage on what we have, really, but I had to get something to take Andy.  Then after that, I remembered that I hadn't been able to find my wellies when I'd wanted them last.  This was a mystery as I never leave them anywhere but the porch.  I can only think that we lent them to someone and we've all forgotten about it.  They are nowhere to be seen, anyway, so I went to the big store just a couple of hundred yards away, next to the church, and have bought myself  a new pair.

I only stayed with Andy about 20 minutes, by which time he was tired.  He's lost a lot of weight (not overweight to start with) and speaks quietly, but his mind and spirit are as always.  He is going to spend tomorrow at home, which he's really looking forward to.  It'll be a long time before he's able to manage stairs and he's been advised that living in a bungalow or having a stairlift would be a good idea, so Gill has already been house-hunting and has found somewhere suitable, in this village (they live a couple of miles away in Yagnub).  An estate agent is coming round to measure their place next week.  Although the property market is pretty flat, the small modern estate where they live is very attractive and houses usually sell very quickly.  On Gill's suggestion, I took bananas (low potassium levels) and Lucozade, and added a box of Maltesers, chosen because they're small and appealing and not wrapped.  His face lit up, he asked me to open the box and he put it on the bed by him!

Then I called on a friend, the one who wants an iPad, from whom I'd had an email asking if I'd be free next week to have another go - the weather turned against us last time.  We're hoping to go next Tuesday.  After that, the Sage and I went next door where Al and Dilly were having a family party, with her parents, sister and family, Weeza and family and us.

And that's our evening.  I'll still be up at midnight and might turn on the television to see the London fireworks, but I'm not in the mood for New Year's Eve television antics.  I started the crossword earlier (a friend and I have got into the way of doing it together and moaning to each other by text when we can't get a clue) but have yet to read the paper, and will listen to music, I expect.

Tomorrow, we're going for the New Year's Day walk in Denton - the last one, I couldn't join in as it was impossible for me to walk far, so I stayed in Gilly's kitchen stirring soups for lunch.  The previous year, I'd had to do the short, 2 mile walk, having always done the longest one before that.  This is what I need wellies for, by the way, it's very much a country walk.  I'll put out the puppy word on the route, the Denton grapevine extends far and fruitfully.

I hope that this year has been a good one for you, friends, and that 2011 will be even better.

News about Andy

There is a diagnosis now - he has vasculitis, which is inflammation of the blood vessels.  There are still tests going on to show specifically which parts of his body are affected and how badly, but he's being treated with cortisone now and is showing some improvement.  It is a chronic condition, but there is every hope that the symptoms can be considerably alleviated.  I'm going to go and visit him tomorrow, just to pop in for a quick half hour, which is about as long as he'll want to cope with a visitor.  It's hoped that he can be moved to the local cottage hospital soon, which will be much more home-like, it's lovely there, and he'll be able to make frequent home visits.  

I spent the morning with the children.  I didn't sleep a whole lot last night, and in fact spent a while exchanging texts with a friend who couldn't sleep either.  Dilly and Al had to go to Norwich, where the lease was to be signed with the new tenants at their house.  I helped Pugsley finish his complicated Lego castle.  

This afternoon, we're not doing a lot actually.  It's been foggy all day, although mild, and I'm not going anywhere.  I'm enjoying the peace.  It's rare to have nothing that I have to do, it'll be soon enough that I'll have deadlines to meet and work to prepare, but I'm taking the rest of the year off from it all.  Tomorrow, we're going next door (after I get back from the hospital) where various family and friends will gather - not sure who or how many, though I know Dilly's parents and Weeza and co will be there.  It'll be families with young children, not a midnight do.  

Z is fairly mean

I don't think I've ever relaxed quite so much.  I've been getting up late - not waking particularly late, but if I get up before the Sage, it wakes him, so I only do so if I have to.  Then, when he finally wakes up and wants a cuddle (this doesn't imply I don't), I then snuggle down for a bit once he has got up, so I'm even later.

Then, the Sage went out to a party - it was a general open house, I hadn't been specifically invited and I am still in the mood to relax alone, so I didn't go, and instead cooked myself a substantial lunch which included, but was not limited to, two fried bantam eggs which were so fresh that the yolks sat well on top of the whites, and i, in my turn, sat on the floor by the fire to eat it, with a glass of white wine.  Then I read the papers and then I watched the last episode of Series 3 of The Wire.  The next series is about the kids, as I remember, and Prez becomes a teacher.  And I guess that Chris and Snoop will become truly scary - does it include the buying of the nail gun?  That is the most hilarious piece of the whole series.

The Sage went out again later, to show his present to more friends - he is so thrilled with it, it's like finding the last ever pair of naked mole rats have had babies, in its rarity and also its ugliness.  I, having temporarily (I hope) taken charge of the church cheque book, made out several cheques, one of them to me (two other people signed the cheque, because that is Correct) and so all bills have been paid.  I have to visit the bank this week, unfortunately, I'm sure the queue will come out the door.  Maybe next Tuesday will do.

I have not drunk an injudicious amount of red wine, but if I have any more I might wish I hadn't in the morning, because it's very red and so hangover-inducing.  Maybe I should move on to something paler.  Or maybe it's time for coffee.  Yes, that's the best thing.  Coffee.  I'll see if the coffee fairy is on form this evening.  The bin fairies bloody aren't.  I did half their job for them, putting a bin bag by the door, and it's still there.  I wasn't pleased.

That reminds me, the Sage is on an official warning, though I'm not sure he realises quite how perilous his position is.  I've explained how vital it is for the dishwasher filters to be cleaned frequently, but he hates the job.  So, when he clears the dishwasher (this is not a specifically designated job, either of us might do it), I ask if he's cleaned them, so if he hasn't he has to do it.  Now, he's had a bright idea.  "I've cleared the dishwasher - but I haven't cleaned the filters," he says, brightly, as if remembering that the job needs doing is the point.  I've been letting him get away with it for some time, but now I've pointed out that this is a cop-out and no excuse.    Next time, there will be a polite request to take his turn at a job neither of us likes.

Putting stuff in the dustbin isn't my job, so it doesn't come into negotiations.  Any more than doing the washing, which he has never mastered.  I may be mean, but I'm quite fair.

Frozen toez

Lunch went very well yesterday.  A socking great 16 lb rib of beef, with all that goes with it, and the pudding was a hit too.  I decided on Queen of puddings - most of you will know it, it's a Victorian recipe I  think.  Not that even I quite recall it from those days.  For those who don't know it, you heat milk, add breadcrumbs, a little sugar and lemon zest and, when it's cool, egg yolks and then bake it like egg custard.  When set, you top it with warm jam and, when you're about to start your meal, whip up the egg whites with sugar - less sugar than for regular meringues - spread on top and bake gently again.  I did a double quantity and it all went.  Squiffany had a second helping, which was a rarity and, when Zerlina was asked if she liked it, she didn't stop eating long enough to reply but just nodded.

I cooked the beef for ten minutes to the pound, which was rather guesswork but which was fine.  Most of us like it on the rare side.  There's some of it left, but everything else vanished except half a dozen sprouts - though even Pugsley has decided he likes sprouts now.

Zerlina has been enjoying Christmas.  She loved the idea of an Advent calendar - Weeza has a chest of drawers for Advent, and she puts a little present in each, she did it first for Squiffany and Pugsley one year.  Just a balloon, hairclip, sweet or suchlike - but with that, and doing the rounds of the family for several days, the first day with no parcels to open came as a disappointment to her.  When we were over there, each present offered to her was opened with a hopeful "Might be chocolate?" - fortunately, there were some chocolate coins, so she wasn't disappointed.

Something always breaks down at Christmas time, so we were more disappointed than surprised when it turned out to be our new electric blanket, which was only three weeks old.  £65, it cost, bought online from John Lewis.  I was glad that I'd bought it online, as it meant I didn't have to trail back to the shop with it, but could email.  The blanket itself seems to be all right, it has dual controls and it's one of the leads that has stopped working.  The one on my side of the bed.  I snuggled up very affectionately to the Sage to keep warm, but after warming me up thoroughly, he insisted on us swapping sides and taking the cold side himself.  A gentleman, he is.  I emailed John Lewis customer services department last night.  I was surprised and gratified to receive a reply first thing this morning - it being a bank holiday, I hadn't really expected one until tomorrow.  I was less happy that, with apologies, they said it was out of stock so they couldn't replace it at present, but offered a full refund with no need to return the blanket.  They also gave me two London branches that, at the time of writing, still had some in stock.  I haven't followed this up, as I have now put on a blanket from the spare bed.  I'll see if the local electrician can do anything with the lead - the working lead is fine either side of the bed, so it isn't the blanket itself.  If not, I'll replace it when stocks come in again.  Though, presumably, at a higher price as VAT will have risen by then.

Aural (and nasal) sects

People are in one of two camps - either like it or can't bear it - background music, that is.  I'm not talking about muzak, because I can hardly believe that anyone likes that, of course.

As I said yesterday, I'm not a fan.  I listen to it if I like it, and if I don't it jars on my ear intolerably.  There was one occasion when I was in Al's shop on a Saturday.  I know it was Saturday because his then Saturday girl, Laura was there.  The Sage had just been in too and then said goodbye and left.  In those days, Al used to have the radio playing on a local station (of course, this had to end when the then government decreed that any business doing such a thing had to pay for a licence).  Whenever I was in the shop alone, it was turned off, of course.  Anyway, Travis came on singing 'why does it always rain on me,' a song I have no fondness for.  "Oh go away, you dreadful irritating man," I snapped, and then realised that Laura was gaping at me, horrified.  "Well, I can't bear that song," I mumbled.  Alex was snuffling with mirth in the corner.  "She thought you were talking about Dad," he chortled.

On the other hand, if something came on that I liked, I would be completely distracted because I wanted to listen to it.  And yet, if you are listening to something, whether music or the spoken voice, on the radio, people don't think it matters if they interrupt you.  My mother had that knack of speaking at a critical moment.  She was quite firm if I went in and she was watching something on television, I had to wait quietly until she was ready to speak to me, which was fair enough.  But if she came here and I had the radio on, she'd start talking immediately.  It nearly always seemed to be at a vital moment, when a mystery was being unveiled or a news item announced.  By the time I'd said, hang on a moment, it was too late - without a picture to give context, you had to hear every word or you lost the sense altogether.

I don't like wind chimes, either.  I find them very irritating because they are intrusive.  And I'm iffy about running water )of the 'water feature' type) in the garden.  It depends on how splashy it is.  Natural sounds are different.  Obviously, a constantly yapping dog is not a good sound (and Dave isn't too keen on our chickens squawking as they sometimes do) but normal outdoor sounds are fine.

Then there are air fresheners.  Now, if there's a bit of a whiff, then squirting around something to disguise it is all very well, I suppose, but those plug-in ones, that keep on puffing out at regular intervals are dreadful. I dreaded it when my friend Caroline took me anywhere in her car, fond as I was of her, because she had the air conditioning turned to 'too cold' and she had a dangly fruit-scented air freshener in her car.  I have no idea why, she didn't smoke, or even smell like rabbits, as Dave does.

I'm more intolerant than any of you thought.  Sorry about that.  Of course, whatever you have in your own home is fine.  I'm talking about other people, naturally.

Scents and sensitivity

I rarely wear scent.  This is not because I don't like it, but out of consideration for other people.

Many years ago - twenty or twenty-five years - I went to a play at the Theatre Royal in Norwich, and the next evening went to a Prom concert at Snape Maltings.  I sat in the circle on the theatre evening, as I remember, towards the right hand side as looking from the back.  The theatre was full and it was a very warm night, and I could hardly breathe because of the mingled smells of poor-quality perfumes.  I was not at all comfortable.

The next night, it was a classical concert - again, I sat towards the back.  I had not yet realised that the sound is very good wherever you sit, so you might as well get cheaper seats, and I was in the middle-ranking seats.  Again, a very warm night and the place was full - and my poor nostrils were assailed by the smell of expensive perfume.  The difference in quality was marked, but it didn't make it a pleasant experience.

Since then, I have never worn scent to the theatre or anywhere that someone sensitive might be uncomfortable with the smell, not just of my perfume but by the mixture of every other woman's.  It's not that I am allergic to anything, just that I notice smells and so they can be too much distraction.  It's the same with music.  If there's music, I generally listen to it, so I don't have it as a background.  That is, I will play music while I type or read blogs or something like that, but I can listen at the same time.  I don't have it on if there's conversation going on, because I'll have to choose which to listen to.

The floozie

I had taken a much better photo than this, but I can't find the camera lead, so this is from my phone.  Squiffany decorated the tree yesterday, with some advice from Pugsley, and I put the Floozie in pride of place on top.

Happy Christmas, darling friends.

Chester's first Christmas

Chester was born in mid-October, so he was 8 weeks old the week before Christmas.  We didn't get a dog for Christmas, but it just so happened that our puppy was ready to leave his mother in time for Christmas.

I will recap, darlings, because I do like to tell a story from the beginning.  I went to coffee with a friend - it was one of those charity things where the first person asks 8 people, each guest asks 4, those ask 2 and they each ask a friend, everyone concerned giving a donation.  I don't think I did, I just gave the money, because I wasn't going to ask a friend for a cup of coffee and expect her to pay for it.

Anyway, Bridget was there, and I mentioned that we were looking for a mongrel puppy, and she said that the man who delivered their horse feed had said that their dog had had puppies, and she might have one.  I asked her to pass on my phone number, and a day or two later, Z phoned.  I didn't phone myself of course, that would be silly, her name is Z too.  Anyway, we went to visit and there were four black pups, three of them female, and three blond boys.  The largest and palest, they were going to keep.  In the car, I'd said to the Sage that I hoped there would be a blond boy.  There was a choice of two, almost identical.  One had a few white hairs on his head.  I wanted him.  Without saying so, I asked the Sage for his choice.  He said the same pup.  They were three weeks old then and, Z being hospitable, we went to visit every week.

That Christmas was, intentionally, a quiet one.  We didn't have a tree, because we thought that would be asking for trouble.  There is an oak beam holding our ceiling up, I just asked the Sage what the upright beam is called and he said a wall plate, and the curved bit joining it and the beam is called a knee.  We nailed a fir branch into the knee and decorated that.  I forgot all about that and, a couple of years later, thought we'd got some damn big woodworm.

To the end of his days, Chester adored Christmas.  Most of all, he loved opening presents.  We bought him various treats and wrapped them, but soon discovered that it was the unwrapping that he most enjoyed.  So we'd wrap individual biscuits, or sneak back the same hide chew and rewrap it, just to see his excitement at receiving another present.  He never touched anything belonging to another member of the family, but pounced excitedly on the parcels he was given.

Fair's fair

I didn't want to give the impression that Weeza complained about her childhood Christmases, or that I was upset about what she said, we were both amused by our not-quite-parallel perceptions.

However, there was one thing I certainly did get right, and I didn't know that either until that same conversation.

Dave may upbraid me for this, but we did give the children several presents. I think it's cheering, seeing whole lots of parcels under the tree and, as I said before, I didn't want present-opening to be over and done with in no time.  When Weeza and Al were little, we didn't have a great deal of spare money and my children didn't know for years that being given socks and pyjamas and other necessaries was a bit of a cop-out.  In those days, I started shopping for their presents early.  The Early Learning Centre only had two shops and so did a lot of their sales by mail order, and I had their catalogue early and ordered all sorts of things.  Then I browsed book shops and often the Sage and I made things for them, and eventually I got everything together and considered what was for whom.  Board games, jigsaws, Lego, books and suchlike, they would both use anyway, and I wasn't keen on girly toys so tended to avoid dolls, so although some items would be bought with one child or other in mind, there were always some things that would be equally suitable for either.

I never wrapped anything until I was satisfied that there was enough for them both.  And then I carefully apportioned everything out, making sure that each pile had the same amount of presents, that they roughly equated in size, style and price, and then finally wrapped and labelled them.  Weeza and Al never commented on this at all - but when I referred to it a few weeks ago, Weeza said that she and Al had always checked.  They'd gone through all the wrapped gifts in the days before Christmas and counted them out, and they eyed each others' pile of stuff to check we'd been fair.  So, it was just as well I'd taken that trouble, wasn't it?

Even now, I still try to be roughly equal.  And I try to include a present that's fun.  Not necessarily silly, although it could be, but something that you can play with on the day.  It doesn't always work out that way, but I like it to.  And ideally, I like to spoil them a bit, because that makes them know that their mummy loves them.  The Sage knows it already, so I can get away with giving him a rather ugly cracked mug from 1795.  Which he's already taken to show the local history expert, he's so pleased with it.

Family planning

It's an interesting thing, different people's perception of the same thing.  A few weeks ago (too early to tell you about it then), Weeza and I were talking about childhood Christmases.  I recalled my careful time plan that scheduled in several stops during the morning, so that I could spend time with her and her brothers, so we could open presents, play with new games and they wouldn't be left, as I was as a child, with my mother in the kitchen working all morning and becoming very harassed while the rest of us hung around disconsolately out of her way, not allowed to open any parcels because that was a whole-family activity and when, after the meal, she spent the rest of the day in the kitchen again while we had to be quiet because of all the elderly people who were invited to spend the day, sometimes several days, with us, who didn't want to be bothered by excited children.

I was convinced that I hadn't made this mistake.  I kept everything simple.  Everything possible was done in advance and I had my schedule to be sure that everything would be perfectly cooked at the same time.  Even so, there was a lot to do, but I always thought that I was relaxed and gave the children my full attention for half an hour at a time, until noon when, our other guests having arrived (always my mum and stepfather, normally my sister and her husband when she had one, sometimes another person), I brought in champagne and we sat down for an hour, chatted and opened presents together, and then I went and did the rest of the cooking.

The thing is, I'd always found Christmas Day a slight let-down.  Eagerly looked forward to, of course, but I really wanted my mother there.  I didn't care about the vast meal, the huge turkey with two stuffings and a dry breast, the whole ham, loads of vegetables and then a massive Christmas pudding that no one liked which was later fed to the birds.  Looking back, I'm not sure what took all the time.  She always decorated and laid the table several days in advance, so we couldn't use the dining room, the meat took hours of being largely left to its own devices - yet she was always busy.  Actually, to tell the truth, she was terribly hard-working, but I've wondered since just how efficient she was.  I'm very lazy, so have to use my time cannily to have plenty left to do sod-all, but I suspect she was the opposite.

My reasoning was - that the family would miss me if I wasn't with them much of the time.  That I didn't want to miss out on the fun.  That it was a good idea to open a few presents at a time, because of the feeding frenzy that children can't resist, left to themselves, so there's ten excited minutes while paper is ripped off, then the flatness of being surrounded by a whole load of stuff, no more parcels and a mother getting cross because they didn't take any notice of who gave what, which makes thank-you letters awkward.  I thought I'd got a pretty good compromise, and it took care and planning, giving them my full attention when there were things to be done.

Weeza's recollection is different.  She remembers the frustration of only being allowed to open one thing at a time and then having to wait until the next break in my time plan.  Her friends did the feeding frenzy and that was what she'd have preferred too.

Oh.

A miss isn't necessarily quite as good as a mile

I mentioned, briefly, back on 11th September, that Wink had had a very near miss on the motorway while driving to visit us.  I took a photo of her car the next day, but never got round to posting it here.  However, reading Christopher's account of the horrible skid they had on a busy, icy road (black ice, Blue Witch, he wasn't driving too fast for the conditions as far as he knew) reminded me.

Just to recap - Wink was driving along the M11 when she glanced in her rear-view mirror and saw a car overtaking another and going out of control.  She braked, not knowing what was likely to happen.  The car shot alongside her, hit the central crash barrier and shot across her bows almost at right angles to her car.  On the hard shoulder, it righted itself again and was brought to a stop some way along.

Piecing it together afterwards, it appeared that the driver of the car being overtaken had been intending to pull out himself.  He looked in his mirror, it seemed okay, so he signalled and started to move, looked again, and a car was coming along very fast in the overtaking lane.  He stayed where he was, but the woman driving the overtaking car may have thought he was pulling out, swerved,  and was going so fast that she couldn't control the car.

This, they discussed while waiting for the police to arrive.  They couldn't ask the woman, who was sitting in her driving seat and didn't get out.

Wink was surprisingly matter-of-fact about the whole thing.  It hadn't happened, it nearly had but it didn't.  So no need to get worked up.  We offered to come and fetch her, of course the motorway was closed but we could have met at the next service area and I bring her car back while the Sage drove Wink.  But she decided against it.  She did stop and have lunch, but then carried on.

Once she was here, she realised she'd lost her mobile.  She'd had it at the service area, but not used it since. We tried ringing it, but no reply.  However, not long afterwards, I had a phone call.  Wink had stopped in the next town to here, to buy me a pot plant.  The phone had dropped out of her pocket into a flower pot and another woman had just found it.  Since she didn't want to wait, she said she'd leave it at the supermarket.  She phoned me because she checked the last caller.

So, two non-events, in one sense.  But it was a near miss.  Check out the picture.

The car was that close.  Wink braked just enough.

Tenazious and bozzy

Up even later this morning.  I feel as if it's Christmas already, with all this self-indulgent behaviour.  Terribly naughty.  The Sage took me out to lunch, to the local caff.  He goes there regularly, and takes me about once a year.

A lot of people are rethinking their travel plans.  The snowy weather seems to sweep up and down the country - at present it's in the South and the West Country.  I spoke to Wink last night, she's due to come here on Sunday until Tuesday (yes, it's a long way to come for a short time, but she's seeing Bod and Bodsmum over Christmas and working on Wednesday) but this is looking doubtful.  It's not worth it for a difficult journey.  Apparently she went a bit overboard on the present front this year so can't possibly come by train - besides, that would be a pretty dire journey, too.

The daft bantams went to roost in trees yesterday afternoon, and by the time the Sage went out to shut them up, it was too late to do anything about it.  They all huddled in early this afternoon, he went out and gave them the pastry from our lunchtime steak pie and then shut the door on them.  They're all fine and quite cheerful.  There are plenty of places for them to scratch about out of the way of the frost, and they all keep together and find any sunshine they can to bask in, although there has been none of that today.  No more snow, although it's forecast for later in the week, from Wednesday onwards.  Not having to go far, I can be relaxed about it, but there's not a lot of choice really.  A friend who is anxious whether her parents can make it up from Somerset has already had several invitations - she really wants to see them of course, but if it can't happen, she won't be alone and I bet they won't be either.

The Sage and I solemnly exchanged cheques for each other's Christmas present, though he wouldn't let me pay full whack for his.  I showed him my bank statement to demonstrate that I could pay, but he wouldn't take it.  And I went and bought as many veggies as could conveniently keep fresh, so that it'll be less to do later in the week.  "£20" said Tim.  I fixed him with a steely look.  "And?"  "Ninety-one pence," he admitted.  I gave him the extra pound.  I'm not taking discounts from him, dear chap.  He gave me 10p back with a flickering glance, so I laughed and accepted it.  It seems that I do take discounts.  He assures me that he has the shop under full control, I think he should let me come in.  I've said, I'll be in every morning at the end of the week to see how it's going.  I know how hard the work is, and he'll be on his knees by the end of it.   And customers will only wait so long, it's important to keep the shelves stocked all the time - well, he knows it too, his brother is going to help.  I explained that I am a motherly control freak and I can't help it.  Funnily enough, I don't do this sort of thing with my own children, I'm more afraid of being overbearing than anything, and I trust that they will ask if they want me. Well, I don't think I do.  But I probably can't help it.

It's all Weeza's fault.  I used to be very mild and unassuming, until she once called me "strong".  Startled, because I had no idea, I've played up to it since.  I realised eventually that a mixture of pride and embarrassment stopped me from ever asking for help, so it was assumed I didn't need it.  I wasn't strong so much as tenacious.  But now, yes.  No pride left, so I accept all the help offered and even ask for it, but I'm afraid that strength has turned to bossiness.  But I'll take no for an answer.

Looking up at the stars - Z is a guttersnipe

If you don't have to go anywhere, this weather is really restful - obviously, if you do, it's very worrying and stressful, whether you have the journey from hell or whether you cancel.  I'm one of the fortunate ones.  There's been nothing that was any problem to cancel and I had enough food in.  Let's face it, we could eat for a month, although we'd end up with interesting unlabelled items that had been in the bottom of the freezer for a couple of years.

I was asked to choose carols for the service this morning, and did so carefully.  I used to do it regularly but am out of the way of it, so it takes a while.  Although, Christmas carols, there's a limit to how many are appropriate to go for at this stage of Advent.  I couldn't resist putting in my favourite, "It came upon the midnight clear" with its gloomy yet hopeful lyrics and the uplifting word "glorious" in the second line, and "See amid the winter's snow" because of the weather.

We got up thoroughly late this morning.  The Sage, unusually, has been sleeping in.  I've been awake long before him, but if I get up it disturbs him so, if I've nothing I have to do, I lie there reading and playing games.  Eventually of course, he wakes up, wraps an arm round me and then goes back to sleep - and so do I.  So it was quite late when we were dressed and downstairs.  This was fine.  It was Sunday, after all.

There's a certain degree of pride in those who get up early, I've always noticed.  Also in ones who go to bed late.  Few do both.  My father did.  He never stayed in bed once he woke up, but got up and did - well, I don't know, he was always up a long time before me.  But he never went to bed before midnight either.  I like early mornings in theory, but the evenings appeal too much.  I'm at my most cheerful and lively at night.  If I went to bed at 10, I'd miss that.  It's when I'm just getting chatty and interested in things.  But people who love to see the dawn think that this is a decadent idea, compared to their healthy lifestyles.  This may be true, it equally may not - but in any case, I have a feeling that the moral high ground may not be as much fun as the immoral flatlands.

I bought several bars of particularly nice chocolate the other day, meaning to share it among my children.  I'm having great difficulty in resolving to give it away.  I wish I'd bought double quantities.  I look at the descriptions and whimper with desire.  I'll resist, of course, I didn't buy them for me.  Dammit.

Z slides and is about to cast a die

It has been a very jolly day.  We received a phone call first thing, asking if we could look after the children as Dilly and Al needed to go out.  I was still in bed actually - I'm awake early but up late, thanks to my phone and, as far as last night and today is concerned, to the new levels of iAssociate.  Still so addictive.

The Sage went next door and babysat until I had put all sorts of stuff on my face - I considered counting the different products but thought that way led to humiliation, considering that the aim is to look fairly untouched at the end, except by time which is inevitable.  Then I went and suggested that we go and frolic in the snow.  Squiffany perked up and went straight to get her boots and gloves, while Pugsley did the "Noooooooo" of despair.  He's not the most outdoor of children.  So he came here with Grandpa, whilst Squiff and I had a lovely time.  We threw snow at each other - not really snowballs as the stuff was just too powdery.  Then we trotted across the Ups and Downs to look at the dip, and decided that there was not enough snow for a toboggan but that there might be for a bag or tray.  So we came back, found the waterproof cover that had been used when Tilly was not quite reliable on the sofa any more and took that.  I was cautious, but still quite abandoned (story of a good life, darlings) and slid down turn by turn with Squiffany.  I don't care how much I ache tomorrow.  Having spent several years being achy and necessarily careful, I don't want to miss out on anything silly and fun that I can possibly enjoy.

We came back and played board games and then had lunch, and then we went out again, leaving Pugsley playing quite happily with Lego - he knew where we were, within calling distance.  Squiffany says that, when the baby is born (she and P both rather hope for a sister but we don't know yet) that there will be a Gang, of the three of them, Zerlina ... and ME!  She will casually say to her mother that they will take the baby out for a while, it'll be all right because Granny will be there, and then we'll go to secret places and have fun.  Can you imagine how pleased and flattered I am?  Can you?  No, try.  Yes, that's more like it.

As for casting the die, we've received our invitation to the New Year Walk in Denton, hosted by good friends - last year, of course, I was within three weeks of receiving my hip and (interesting, I don't care about my clapped-out old one, it's the new one that's part of me, poor old lost bone) stayed at the house to stir soup rather than walk.  We'll accept of course, but I've said to the Sage that, if all right with him, I'll say to them, put the word out that we are looking for a pup.  Chester came from Denton and there's a fine neighbourhood network there.  They are well placed to hear of a bitch that has gone a bit wayward and is expecting mongrel puppies.

In further news, I have a Christmas present for the Sage.  I am rather thrilled to find that I am spending nearly four times on him what he is on me.  I adore a demanding husband.  Makes me rise to the occasion.  Although I think, damn, I should have demanded an iPad right back.  He has chosen a cracked mug, dated 1795.  It isn't even Lowestoft, never mind any other recognised factory.  A connoisseur's piece, darlings, indeed.

And finally, I have received by bill from the Inland Revenue.  Sigh.  There's a weird thing, if you're self-employed, that they demand a payment on account for the next year, based on this year's amount owed.  So this year I'll pay twice as much, but next year I'll owe very little so it won't trigger the extra demand, until the next year - well, that seems to be how it works.  I expected it, so have the money.  Damn them.

Oh, finally finally, the reason Dilly and Al were out was to meet prospective tenants for D's Norwich house. All is well and they will move in in a fortnight.  So that's good.

Z doesn't fall over

Having said we wouldn't have a tree, it's turned out that there's a spare one.  Al bought one for the village school, delivered it and now that term is over has brought it back again, and there isn't a suitable branch for us to take off.  This wouldn't matter, we can get a branch of fir anywhere (and we're not very bothered, to be honest) but he and Dilly decided that they might as well use it, and that leaves the little tree in a pot going spare.  So I said, okay, it can go on the revolving bookcase and we'll put the floozy and a couple of decorations on it.

If you didn't know me last year, you won't have been introduced to the floozy.  It'll probably be as simple to take her picture again and put it up as to refer back to last December.  She is an honoured, if not a respected, member of the family.

I didn't get to the end of term jollies at the high school.  I didn't want to get the car out and then walk on the slippery ground, frankly.  We had an electrical problem at the church and I walked there and back four times, which was quite enough - the drives weren't too bad, but the road was terribly slippery.  The last time, carefully as I walked, I slipped several times and it was both caution and luck that kept me upright.  I'm probably reasonably safe from dislocation except from a bad fall, but if it were to happen I'd be dreadfully upset.  I'm still scared of it more than is quite proportionate, although from my mother's experiences it's not surprising.  Anyway, I do go out and I haven't fallen.  I had to climb on and off tables and chairs several times, about a dozen, and my hip has hurt a bit this evening, which is interesting - after eleven months, you'd think that wouldn't happen.

I had to phone the electrician, being unable to deal with it myself.  He is a lovely young man.  He was on his way to Norwich when I rang, but cheerfully said that he'd call in on his way home, and phoned with 20 minutes warning for me to meet him.  Then he quickly diagnosed the problem, said he'd nip back to the shop and get the part and come back, so I left him a key (the church isn't locked, but the meetings rooms are) and fetched it later. He is busy with appointments, but since this is easily dealt with (and his parents are  devout Christians, so he knows that everything has to be in full working order at this time of year) he made sure he fitted it in and phoned through to his later appointments to let them know he'd be a bit late.  I don't think you can beat a good local firm, especially family-run.

I feel that I have copped out, because I've wrapped most of the presents.  A couple haven't arrived yet, and I still have a couple to buy, but otherwise they are wrapped.  I think it takes the fun out, but I'd have to put everything away otherwise, in case the children come in and start poking around.

Still no diagnosis for Andy.  He is being taken to the Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital for more specialised tests next week.  No prognosis until there's a diagnosis of course.  Poor Andy, poor Gill.  So worrying.

The Big O, plural

Delicacy will not permit me to tell you how our day started; suffice it to say that I had to change the bedclothes, and that neither of us was ill or incontinent.  Even that is rather TMI, I realise.  We took Pugsley to nursery, picked up Ro and I went to the dentist, from where he and Al walked into the ci'ee, then the Sage dropped me at the little Riverside shopping centre while he went to visit a friend.  I bought various things, including three pairs of shoes and a pair of boots, which I have passed on to him for my Christmas present (romantic presents happen sometimes, but aren't always necessary.  I'm very pleased with this one) and we arrived on the top floor at Bonds on the dot of noon.

Hebe (actually, shall we drop that? The Sage's sister's name is June) ... June is great fun.  She has never been known to complain about anything and is always cheerful.  She mentioned that she had built a snowman - all by herself, for the pleasure of everyone where she lives, which is a sort of retirement complex of individual cottages around a big courtyard, in Cromer.  It's great to have someone else as daft as I am.

Her daughter and family aren't joining her for Christmas this year in fact, but her son and his partner are, complete with their neurotic cat.  She has opted to go by train and meet them there, which surprised them a bit, but she confided that she really doesn't want a carsick, doped cat on her lap again.  June had us in fits of laughter as she told us about the forthcoming "Big O's" - the first is to be next December when Simon will be 50, then it'll be her 80th, then Sarah's 50th.  We started comparing Big Os (excuse the apostrophe, I'll leave it out now that you know I'm talking about the letter O, plural) and realised that they can carry on for the next five years, between us all.  Ken, Simon's partner, had his Big O the year before last.

My teeth are fine, and so is my mouth.  I paid quite a lot of money to be told so, and for a three minute polish.  It rained on and off all day, but when the Sage looked out a while ago, it had started to snow lightly.  If you have to travel darlings, I hope it isn't too difficult.  The roads will be treacherous.

Z plans to go down the ci'ee

They still haven't found what's wrong with Andy.  Two MRI scans, the lumbar puncture, an endoscopy and numerous blood and other tests have come up with nothing conclusive.  They've sent blood to Cambridge for more specialised tests.  It's still a mystery.  Whatever it is, it's over and above the strokes.

I called on Gill's mum today.  She's a delightful lady who never stops talking.  I shall refer to her as Mrs Honeyman.  She was born a month before my own mum, I found out, and her late husband shared Mummy's birthday, but he was a year older.

Tomorrow, we're going to meet the Sage's sister Hebe for lunch and to exchange presents.  We give her a Stilton, and have done each Christmas for decades.  Every so often, we check that it's still what she wants and she says she relies on it.  She normally rents a cottage for a week, somewhere between her two offspring (one in Oxon, the other in Bucks) and they all muck in together for Christmas day.  She's a lot of fun, Hebe, and we're very fond of her.  She lives in Cromer so we normally meet up in Norwich - Hebe has glaucoma and so had to give up driving, so comes by bus usually.

There was a bit of a cock-up on the catering front this evening.  I had bought sausages, and decided that the Sage would continue to love me if I made him toad in the hole.  So I got them frizzling away while I made the batter, and then found I was 2 ounces shy of plain flour.  I knew I was running short, so had bought ... self-raising flour.  There was still half a jar left of that in any case.  It was past the point of no return with the batter, so I looked for the strong bread-making flour that I expected to have, but didn't, and only came up with some buckwheat flour that I use for blini.  I decided that I'd use a little of that and a little of the SR and that would be fine.  Well, it wasn't.  It didn't rise at all and was heavy.  Nice enough flavour, but we just nibbled a bit round the edge and the rest will go to the chickens.  They won't mind.  The Sage was highly amused by my mistake and promised not to think less of me.

I've done most of my shopping, except for the Sage, but I am out of inspiration for Squiffany.  I've got her a couple of things, but not as much as I have for Pugsley, and I think his presents are more fun.  In fact, I think that boys' presents are more fun than girls, on the whole.  When Weeza was a child, I got them the same sort of things, I didn't treat them differently on account of their sex, but the whole thing seems to be so much more rigid now, and nearly everything seems to be invisibly labelled - well, not so invisibly, because everything "for girls" is a relentless pink.  I asked Dilly for more ideas, and she said it's difficult because Squiffany spends most of her time reading and writing.  Dilly suggested buying clothes or else tickets for the pantomine in Yagnub, which is a thought if I'm really stuck, but it won't help on Christmas Day when Pugsley is enjoying his cool toys and Squiff is looking at pieces of paper.  Ho hum.