I’ve never had it happen before, that someone should enquire about china from the auction, several weeks later. But two people did, in the last couple of weeks. The upshot was that I’ve sold four lots – the vendors are pleased, of course, and I didn’t charge anything (can’t be changing my accounts a month on, not for potential commission of a few pounds), but it’s nice that some more china has found good homes.

Today, I was supposed to make chilli relish and bread. I’ve bought the chillies, but I actually made chicken casserole and celery soup. I’ll do the others on Monday or so.

In other news, I’ve started Christmas shopping. Not got far, but there we go.

*This is the correct Norfolk spelling.

I have just accepted an invitation to a wedding in Mexico at the end of March.

I don’t suppose I’ll actually get to see a lot of Mexico itself, to be honest, because the wedding celebrations are taking a week at the resort, but no matter. I’m still excited and very pleased to be asked. The week is very convenient for me, but a longer time wouldn’t be easy to fit in, but I’m thinking about it and it will depend, in part, on whether I’ll be travelling with another member of Mim, the bride’s, family. She is very kind to want me to come – she loved my mum dearly, they shared a birthday and mummy was something of a substitute grandparent, as Mim’s only grandparent didn’t have good health.

Our families go back a long way – a really long way, as my father and her great-grandmother used to go to dancing classes together 100 years ago and the friendship has continued through the generations. Mim moved to Canada some years ago, where she met her fiancé. As lots of their friends and families are quite far-flung, they’ve got no particular need to keep the wedding close to their home. Mim’s grandfather is Dutch and she grew up in both England and the Netherlands, so I’m not sure where she really thinks of as her homeland. Her mother grew up in Amsterdam, but feels more at home over here, where she now lives.

If there had ever been any question of living in another country, that’s long past for me. I feel very much at home when I’m in India, but the culture is just too different. Most friends who live abroad (that is, in a non-English speaking country) seem to be part of an ex-pat community rather than the general population, which would be too restricted for me. Even friends who speak the local language well spend most of their social time with other British people and I sometimes wonder if that’s what they really expected when they moved there. I think it’s different if you marry someone from another country and move there, you’re more likely to assimilate. But family connections will keep me in East Angular anyway. There’s no likelihood I’d ever want to move further away from my children. Tim’s sister- and brother-in-law retired to a family home in Pembrokeshire a few years ago and I certainly love my visits there, but it’s too far from everywhere else. Getting to London in a couple of hours or so is a priority for me.

I’d been finding the train journey to London something of a slog for several years, because of the unreliable train service. I didn’t miss it during lockdown but, once I started going again (and they’d used their time well, in improving the tracks and buying new rolling stock), I fell in love with the capital again. Also with Norwich, which is a delightful city (as long as you’re not traipsing around looking to buy shoes). So I’m afraid that Norfolk is stuck with me.

I just went to let Eloise cat in. She’s wanted to be let out about an hour ago, after helping me eat my dinner (she had a morsel of cheese, because it wasn’t particularly cat-friendly) and I’ve been reading and then talking to Weeza on the phone. Last night, I went to the door and called, but she didn’t come in, so I assumed that she’d gone in to visit Wink. I went to bed early, I was tired and I don’t like to doze off in an armchair in the evening. This morning, Wink told me that she was on her way to bed last night when she heard a pathetic mew and found eCat outside her front door, damp and sad as I’d locked her out.

She has a cat flap. She can go out and come in whenever she wants to.

Anyway, I called, she didn’t come, so I started to lock the door and she hurried up towards me. So, although it’s only 8 o’clock, I’ve locked up and she isn’t going out again if I can help it.

I was supposed to do paperwork yesterday and today. I haven’t. I’ll regret it – I regret it already, but that’s how it goes. Our friend Rose is coming over on Wednesday, we haven’t seen each other for a while, so it’ll be good to catch up. I also have to try to book a ticket for Zerlina to go to a concert – I’d say gig, but what do I know? She calls it a concert – next July. I’ve registered with Ticketmaster and logged a credit card with them, but the whole thing is decidedly sketchy. They don’t give any clue how much tickets cost, in advance, and I’ve a feeling that they won’t say until you go to pay. But there we are, I’m here to indulge my grandchildren – and children – if I can. Weeza has indicated an unreasonable price, so I’ll hope to get something for merely expensive.

I have both a mouse and a trackpad for my computer. Sometimes I use one, sometimes the other, but usually the pad. But it wouldn’t connect. The computer found it on Bluetooth but wouldn’t connect to it. I attached it with a lead to the computer, but still not. I restarted the computer, I switched the trackpad off and on again, but nothing. Eventually, it occurred to me to turn off the mouse. The pad connected, I turned the mouse back on and it connected too. Machinery can be so irritating.

After the run was mended, Harriet Bantam was disconsolate. I saw her standing in the run, looking at where the gap should be (it was raining, all the sensible chickens had gone indoors) and clearly trying to work out how to open it up again. I let them all out today, for the first time since the weather turned nasty and, when I went to check on them about 3 o’clock, she and one other were the only ones still out on the grass. The others, still being sensible, were on the perch. But they went in and everyone had mealworms, so that’s all safe and sound. The wind was still gusty but it was much milder, I suppose storm Bert is fading away.

At least I got around to making naan bread yesterday. And more kefir. One batch is draining through muslin to make cream cheese – curd cheese, I suppose – and another is on its second ferment, the third will probably have to be strained tomorrow. I know it’s supposed to be terribly good for me, but I can only manage it if I happen to make a really good batch. Sometimes, it reminds me too much of school milk in the 1960s, left out in the warm all morning and slightly off. I put the whey into the naan.

Stephen the gardener found out where Harriet Bantam had been getting out, a bit of wire netting had come adrift. So he fixed it and that’s one problem solved.

Sadly, old Jabba the Cluck has died. She had been fine, her usual feisty self. I had fed them some treats in the run and I noticed her blocking the doorway back into the henhouse, deliberately so that a small hen couldn’t pass her. But the next morning, I took out some more treats and she came rushing out, turned too sharply and slipped and then couldn’t get up again. I lifted her up and she ate the food and could walk although, unsurprisingly, she looked a bit stiff-legged. Later, she was in the henhouse with her head hunched into her neck, which was a bad sign. I took in a bowl of water and put down corn, and hand-fed her some mealworms, which she gobbled up. I went and checked again and she still was hunched. I put a ladder, so that she could hop up to a nest box if she wanted, but didn’t hold out a lot of hope and, indeed, she died overnight. Scrabble is the oldest, but she was next, at 9.

I told the scaffolders that I didn’t need the board. Honestly, I know I’m not going to do it and that’s that. As long as the edges are painted, that will have to do.

The wind blowing heartily is, apparently, called Bert and the weather is dreadful in some parts of the country, though not here. All the same, I’ve lit the woodburner. It’s more for cheer than because it’s cold. The newspaper hasn’t been delivered, which is disappointing. I give the Sunday paper to my sister, because I don’t much like it and the Saturday one easily lasts me two days, but I’ll just have to read online today. We’re going out this evening, to the ballet. I’ll go out soon and give the chickens their mealworms, because I’m pretty sure they’ll go to roost early.

The builder Guy phoned this morning, to tell me that the scaffolders would turn up first thing tomorrow to take the scaffolding down. I apologised that I hadn’t yet used the scaffold boards to balance on top of the henhouse – I should start from the beginning.

The splendid new henhouse needed to be painted with wood preservative before the winter and I finally started it a couple of weeks ago. It was the top of the run that was the difficulty, I needed something to kneel on. So Guy suggested a couple of scaffold boards. However, I couldn’t put them on top of the run, not on my own. Too heavy, too high, too awkward. Weeza and co came over yesterday – more of that in a minute, I won’t digress – and Phil and Gus lifted them up there. Today, I got a ladder tall enough to get myself up there too. And I funked it. I just didn’t care to do it. I’m not sure that I was really afraid, but I really didn’t want to do it. So I painted some of the edge that I could reach and then about half of the fourth side of the house itself. I think they’ll leave the scaffold boards if I ask nicely and maybe I’ll try again. But I suspect I’ll just acknowledge that I’m a bit old for this and I don’t want to any more. I used to be quite reasonably gung ho and I’m sorry not to be, but that’s how it is.

I asked Weeza how their wood pile was getting on and she admitted that it was pretty low. So they came over yesterday to stock up. I had a message from Gus – he’d heard that I’d invited them for tea and there might be cake. What sort of cake might there be? I hadn’t decided, I said, and wouldn’t be making it until Sunday morning, so what would he like? A sponge cake, maybe with jam? Perhaps cream? Strawberries too, I suggested, and he thoroughly approved.

Fact is, I don’t really make cake any more. But of course, an exception was made. In view of the filling, I thought a proper fatless whisked sponge would be a good idea. All the recipes said 7″ cake tins. I know my family. Not enough cake. So I made a bigger mixture and used 8″ tins.

Oddly, Delia wanted me to separate the eggs. I’ve never heard of a sponge cake being make that way and another cookery book agreed with me, so I whisked the eggs and sugar together and carried on in the traditional manner. Delia is splendid, but certainly went off piste in this instance. Anyway, all was well and the whole cake, as well as a packet of biscuits, was eaten. And a large pack of crisps. I had leftover (unopened) packets from the Rector’s bash, which I’d bought in case there wasn’t enough food. I gave them all to the family, along with various other things I’d overstocked on, mostly olive oil. I buy a 5 litre box of it at the street fair, from the importer who brings it across from the family farm, along with fabulous goat milk halloumi. But I can’t use 5 litres of olive oil a year, so I can supply the family too.

I also made a loaf of bread yesterday. I have let my bread making lapse, but I enjoyed doing it and I miss it. I can always give a surplus to the chickens. I have one chicken, by the way, who keeps getting out. None of the others is managing it, but always the same rather small bantam, so I guess there’s a gap just big enough for her. Of course, once she’s out, she regrets it but that doesn’t stop her doing it again the next day. She trots in quite happily when I open the gate, but I have to make sure the rest of them don’t get out. Eh. Keeps me on my toes.

I had an email from the hospital where I had my last hip replacement done in December 2016. It pointed out that my self-assessment was overdue. A bit misleading of them, in truth, because the reason it’s overdue is that they haven’t been sending it to me. I duly filled it in. Top marks all round, as I have no disability, nor pain and no difficulty in moving. Both hips are absolutely fine. The first one was replaced in January 2010 and that’s still perfectly good too.

Then it went on to general stuff and that’s where it went a bit awry for me. The first question was whether I was depressed or anxious? Three options. I first wanted to do the no, not at all, but it isn’t true. I wanted to mark out of 5, just a bit but I’m coping. I ticked the middle box. Next question was, out of 100, how well was I, if 100 couldn’t be better and 0 couldn’t be worse. Well, how would I know? 3 options for one question and 100 for the next seemed a bit off. Anyway, I opted for 85%, but it is what I hate about questionnaires. But I felt very low for the rest of the day, because I’m not depressed, I am sad and I am on the edge of anxiety all the time, but I ignore it because that’s what’s best for me and, though I acknowledge how I feel, I don’t want to confront it. Being forced to is what has pushed me into too much introspection.

Our friend Rose is very keen on therapies, but I’m not. If a therapist wanted me to talk, I’d be much more likely to use the social niceties and say, after a couple of minutes, but enough about me, how are you? And, though I sometimes am glad for a heart-to-heart with a trusted friend, it has to be spontaneous and hardly ever has happened – and sometimes I’ve regretted trying. I’m better talking to myself, if I must.

I saw a map of East Angular today from the 1840s, I think it was. It was really interesting to see how different the coastline around Lowestoft was – I knew, of course, that a lot of land was lost to the sea in the 1880s to the early 1900s, but I’d never really thought about the shape of the landmass. I’ve been trying to find an online map, but not been able to find anything of that sort of age – the ones of hundreds of years earlier show the shape as it is now, they aren’t – of course – contemporary. Anyway, where I used to live in the Old Rectory at Pakefield, which was a village outside Lowestoft but has been part of the town for many years, our Old Rectory was built in the early years of the 20th Century, because half a mile of Pakefield had been lost to the sea, including the Georgian (I think) Rectory. The erosion had stopped a few feet from the church itself, amazingly. And then it had all stabilised and there was a big shingle and sand beach, the sea never has come that close to the cliff since. But Pakefield had stuck out, it wasn’t quite a peninsula but it was more a promontory. I’d never thought of that and never seen a map before today.

I did 6 of the 8, plus a bonus 1 that I hadn’t written down. The 2 I haven’t done have long deadlines, to be fair as they are needed for the next tax year (although I realised that a task I thought I’d completed has some more work to be done). All in all, I’m satisfied with myself. Ish. I also checked my blood pressure, which continues to return to normal – it’s not high, anyway, but not yet quite *my* normal. In short, it’s going quite well at the Zedery.

London tomorrow. We’re going to the Royal Academy in the morning and the British Museum in the afternoon, which is a bit ambitious, especially as we’re meeting a friend for dinner. She kindly suggested a restaurant near our station rather than hers, which we appreciate very much. Al will come along and look after things here.

The rest of the week, I hope to get the rest of the henhouse painted with wood preservative and to sort out some more admin. But we’re going out for lunch on Thursday, because I’m having my hair cut at the convenient time of 11.45, so will be in town at just the right hour for a nice meal. We need very little excuse.

I want to get back to baking bread, but I haven’t quite had time, as yet. I’m making yoghurt and kefir again, however – I don’t really drink much milk, so I’m not quite sure what to do with it all, however fermented it might be. I’m sure it’s awfully healthy though (and I can always add it to bread dough to get rid of the odd half pint).

Remembered another email I should write. I’ll put it on the list.

Today was one of the days where nothing much was done by me, though I had a lot to do, none of it onerous. I just didn’t manage it. I slept well, so no excuse there, but heavy sleeping left me sluggish and slightly headachy. All the same, no excuse. I took Wink to the supermarket and did some housework, but nothing on The List. I have tomorrow morning to get the arse in gear, but no more time until Friday afternoon. At least one item is pretty urgent, but it involves a phone call and I made my month’s quota yesterday, in normal circumstances. I’m fine with answering the phone, but making the calls will never come easily. You’d think one would grow out of things like that.

The chimney is all done and the odd damaged tile has been replaced. Bits of lead have been renewed too. I mentioned the barns to be re-roofed. Guy says it’ll be expensive – yeah, I know. It hasn’t been done in all the time I’ve known this house. A lot of the guttering is broken down or missing altogether and it has to be metal. Most of the tiles can be reused and I’ve got quite a lot in store, but they must all come off, the roof timbers are an unknown and, obviously, new felt and battens. Spending the kids’ inheritance should be more fun than this. But caring for the house matters a lot, of course.

Anyway, I’ve written down the admin I need to do this week. 8 items, though one of them can be done later. If I do the rest, I’ll feel comfortable. If I do all of them, I’ll probably take to my bed for the next week.

I’m trying to correct email addresses, in some instances by deduction. For instance, if you’re getting an error message for james smith@gmailetc, the odds are that the spaces between james and smith shouldn’t be there. In another instance, thea should have been theo and gmail should have been ymail. The last half dozen, I needed to track down the persons concerned. So, belatedly realising that I had their phone numbers, I rang and asked them.

It’s taken a while to sort out, but then I realise it’s not easy to type in nearly 150 emails, each written down by hand by its owner, whatever their handwriting is like. And I think it’s done now.

I’m going to move from my desktop computer to a laptop, but I don’t honestly want to. I like the size of the screen and that I don’t have to hunch over a folding computer. However, the convenience of taking my MacBook with me when I go away is tempting too and, I can’t deny, it is a thing of beauty. So I’ll compromise. I’ll have a separate screen to use with it when I’m here and I’ll just unplug it and take it with me when I want to. My present computer is 9 years old and, being a Mac, I think of it as not very old at all, certainly not outdated, but borrowed time approaches, I recognise. So, rather than be caught out by a sudden failure, I’ve adopted my usual belt and braces over the past year and used both. It’s not really satisfactory. I never know where anything is.

The Remembrance Sunday service this morning was as moving as ever it was. I listen intently as the Rolls of Honour for three villages are read out. It never ceases to shock me, that our small village lost 25 men in the Great War. A whole generation. The people who read them out were each born in their village. Our speaker is now over 90 years old, not that you’d realise it of her. She lives in Yagnub and has, in the last few weeks, finally given up driving, though her car still sits in her driveway. I went to fetch her this morning and took her part of the way back, but she decided she wanted a walk, so I dropped her off to stride uphill for the last half mile. “Use it or lose it,” she declares – and she’s right, of course.

The work on the roof is finished, pretty well. Guy will come back on Monday to tidy up. What we really want now is some heavy rain, to check if any of it is still getting into the house. It isn’t forecast, though. After the wettest year for a long time…

I’m going to Norwich tomorrow, picking Ro up from his house and parking at the Park’n’Ride, to go into the city together. Everyone who lives near Norwich simply calls it The City. We’ve both got various things to do, some of them together. Nice to have some mother and son time, he’s good company. Mostly, I’m easing off for a few days. I do need to do the auction accounts – I’ve paid everyone and notified everyone, though I need to contact one person again – but it’s the income and expenditure bit that I must write down. Then it’s just regular stuff, which is quite busy but no pressure.

I had a horrible experience yesterday, though it wasn’t as bad as the rat’s. I’ve tried, in the past, to control rats in various ways. Keeping them out doesn’t work. They gnaw and tunnel and get past every defence. Traps are not much good. They will catch a few rats, but about one in ten times, the poor rat isn’t killed, but is horribly injured. And it’s no good putting a trap where a chicken or anything else can get to it. I tried putting them under weighted-down milk crates, but chickens are intensely curious and jiggled at the side of the crate until the trap was set off. So, with the greatest reluctance, only poison will keep them at bay. If they aren’t controlled, it’s awful. They’ll run everywhere, even in front of you in daylight.

Yesterday, the chickens were making quite a noise in the henhouse, but two were still in the run. I had some greens and soaked bread for them, so fed them and shut the door and went to investigate. A dead rat was in the henhouse. I fetched a shovel to pick it up: it wasn’t dead. Poor creature. I put it in a pot and then in the bin – couldn’t leave it out in case something ate it. Then I fed the cats as usual. Today, Wink went to feed the cats and found that the chickens were out, and agitated. I realised that I had shut their door but hadn’t shut the other door, as I’d been wood-preserving the hen house yesterday and had been completely distracted from closing everything because of the rat. So lucky that the fox hadn’t found out. I’m chastened. Little Mama cat hadn’t had her breakfast, because the chickens bullied her, but when I let them in their run, they hurried in for their own breakfast and a drink, so I fed her again. All calm after that, but I felt dreadful.

If anyone has the faintest idea what to do about rats that doesn’t involve poison, I’d be glad to know. I won’t need to do anything for a few months though, anyway.

I keep getting notifications that people (spammers) have changed the password on their registration here. People, you can’t post unless I approve your comment. If you’re okay, you won’t have to be approved again, but the first comment is judged by me before it turns up here. And you’ll go into spam if there’s a link. 748 of those, right now, which have all been deleted unread. Frankly, I’m going to assume that anything from “Googlebot” isn’t any friend of mine.