But it’s a good evaluation of how supple you are if you’re past the age of 40 or so – below that, you should be able to do it unless you have a mobility problem; especially if you are taller than I, which most people are. I thought, a few months ago, that my kicking the light switch days were over. They aren’t. Even if you think I’m peculiar, which had occurred to me (or Special – in a SEN sense, Dan?), I’m sure you can appreciate how pleased I am?

There is time for blogging at the weekend. Another post follows; almost as brief I hope.

Just out of interest, do the rest of you switch on lights with your foot? I mean press a light switch on the wall 4 foot-something high.

It’s just that I often used to, haven’t been able to for a few years and now am within an instant’s control of doing so again. But it’s just occurred to me that maybe it’s a bit peculiar – or does everyone do it? It is what I’m using as a yardstick of my own agility now, though.

Weeza is fine, baby still tucked up safe.

Later I’ve just tried again and I can switch on the light easily. I can touch the wall 56 inches above the floor. Since I’m only 62 or so inches tall with an inside leg of 30 inches, this is damn good for an old girl. I don’t care if it’s odd to want to, it’s enough to do it.

*goes to wash footmark off wall*

Weeza rang me just before 7 – I’d decided, in the end, to wait until Phil was home just to make it plain that I wasn’t fussing. I don’t fuss but I can look as if I do. My family thinks I worry, when I really just look worried. Actually, I feel extremely emotional. But not uncontrollably so. I have realised that, however close you are and how much you love your son and his wife, it’s different when your daughter is going to have a baby.

Still, be cool at all times. Relaxed. Supportive. Weeza has seen the midwife – the one she saw before, and liked, is on holiday for the next fortnight and the one who rang her the other day is a bit of a fusspot and if Weeza hadn’t known her onions, she might have been made anxious. As it was, she explained the situation (she is Rhesus negative and has had injections) and later the midwife rang back to say she was right as she’d checked with the lab. Weeza was patient. Today’s midwife was lovely and they got on fine. They have discussed Norwich’s 10 day overdue guideline, and NICE’s 14 day one, and come to an agreement. Weeza is very diplomatic. It was her job (she was not a diplomat).

Anyway, in other news…I cycled in to help in the shop this morning as Tim looks after his children in alternate weeks during the holidays. Al’s Saturday staff are filling in but it’s quite busy on a Friday. In the event, it kept raining so we had to rush out and bring in vulnerable stock, mostly flowers and peaches, and then take them out again. Additionally, there are a lot of orders to deliver on a Friday which need to be made up. I did them, which saved Al a job on a busy Friday afternoon. However, I had to meet the chap servicing the church boiler at the church to let him in – with remarkable foresight, I’d given him my mobile number (not knowing I’d be in the shop) to give me 20 minutes warning so I didn’t have to wait all morning at the church. He rang at 10.40 and it was raining. Lovely Sage had already rung to say he’d pick me up, so we phoned and he was able to fit the bike in the van.

I made the boiler chappie happy. I told him I’d put the heating on for a few hours this morning. His face brightened. “That’s really good news! The heating isn’t normally on at this time of the year and the boiler do sweat.” Last time I’d met him, he’d been a bit patronising, but he was all good cheer and helpfulness – I was glad that I’d set the timer. It made his job easier, so he’d passed the goodwill on; not that he had been awkward before, I’m not criticising…oh blimey, let’s just drop it, okay?

Apart from the tenterhooks, it’s been good. Yesterday, I approached someone about taking over a chairmanship from me next year and she demurred, but only politely. I think she will agree. The boiler chappie, as I said, was very helpful. My friend who we had lunch with gave me some lovely trout, which I baked en papillote (not sure about relative numbers of ls and ts there) which her husband catches and brings home in greater numbers than they can eat – two were too much for us too and tomorrow I have scope with delicious leftovers.

Phil is pleased because he has successfully cycled up Mousehold Heath and then further uphill for a couple of miles, on consecutive days. He has worked out that his cycling uses 900 calories a day. Gosh, is all I can say there. Certainly, I will never be able to cycle up Mousehold Heath, even with a bike with more than 3 gears. Humility is good and I’m more than happy to embrace it.

The Sage has been entirely charming. He brought me wine, he scrubbed potatoes and now he has brought me a bowl of raspberries. The prospect of new as well as existing grandfatherhood is making him even more adorable.

… oh wait, oh wait.

No sign of the baby yet.

Now overdue.

Phil and Weeza came over last night – now they have a car of their own and they brought mine back. After dinner, they went next door to see Dilly and Al. I went outside a few minutes later and remarked how warm and humid it was. “Could you replace the bulb in the outside light before long, please?” I asked. “It’s been months.” I didn’t exaggerate. It’s been at least three months, could be up to six. I’d have done it myself, except the shade needs two of my little girly hands to open it and it’s stiff, so I don’t want to let go of the ladder. A proper man-size hand can open it easily.

I went to fetch a bulb to leave out and jog his memory. While I was fetching it, I heard the torch being wound up. I followed him outside, where he was fetching a ladder. “You don’t have to do it now, it’s dark,” I said. “You’ll be out tomorrow morning,” he replied. “You can hold the ladder.” “I’ll be back mid-afternoon.” “Yes, but I might forget and then you’ll mention it again.”

I have always gone by the idea that mentioning something once is a request or information. Twice is a reminder. Three times risks being looked upon as a nag. It seems that the goalposts have shifted. “Damn, the light just went” is allowed. However many months spent fumbling in the darkness later it’s referred to again, that is nagging.

I held the ladder and thanked him for putting in the new bulb. He is a sensitive man, and he appreciated that.

There was a sensational lightning storm later, and then the rain came down in torrents.

I had said to Ro that he was welcome to stay, but he might prefer to go and visit a friend or a gallery or something. In the event, he enjoyed the company too, so he stayed with us. The weather was a bit iffy so we didn’t go out. We didn’t eat scones either, but we did, at various times, drink water, tea and beer and scoff Lovehearts. Furthermore, I was given Prizes! I was awfully pleased. I’m sure you want pictures.


We all had engagements to keep in the afternoon, so drank up and left, after much conversation, soon after 1.30. I suggested walking back to the flat, where we’d left our suitcase. The key decided not to turn for several minutes, so all our friend was allowed time for (which she was very good-natured about) was a quick hurry up and down the stairs before we left again. We strode along to the City Road, where we parted company.

The bus arrived at the stop as we did, so we actually arrived at the station in good time. Ro had been quite sure I was fussing more than I needed to; he was right but one has to allow time for hold ups, I think (one hopes, not of the hijacking variety).

A couple of people are concerned about the number of typos they are, for understandable reasons, making at present. In a demonstration of solidarity, today I will correct no typos on any comments I make, unless they make inadvertant (whoops) rude works. Nor am I correcting this post. And mistakes are not deliberate, I make them constantlt.

Because we can all work out wat we mean, can’t we?

We had a most enjoyable evening, although the Hadrian exhibition was quite crowded. As it was a Members’ evening, everyone was looking properly and listening to the whole of their audio guides. Being frivolous, I hadn’t hired one. Emperor Hadrian really was the image of Rory McGrath. Or, correctly speaking, the other way round. We were all quietly feeling our earlobes for an unexpected horizontal crease (I can’t vouch for R McG’s ears, I don’t suppose the resemblance stretches that far).

It took 15 or 20 minutes to get in, because the first people had to get through the first room of course, and then when they were in the second room the next people – oh, you get it. There were two chaps in front of us; the younger one, who had spectacularly curly hair, closely cut at the sides but untrammelled on top, was quite lively. He kept nudging and touching his older companion and chattering excitedly. At one point, the nudging got too much and the other man twitched him away. he retreated in mock alarm and Older Chap stuck out the tip of his tongue.

A fine and delightful evening and Ro and I have the same taste in overheard snippets of conversation, so we sniggered together at intervals. Dinner was so good I ate most of mine, and Ro finished anything I couldn’t. He was kind enough to say that the first amuse bouche, a creamy cabbage soup, tasted just like my soup, in a complimentary way, and added that I wouldn’t add the cream, but he prefers, for everyday dining, the lighter alternatives I use.

The next morning, I was up early because I needed to send someone a text before he left for work. Then I went out for coffee and papers. I was overtaken, as I went along the road, by five cyclists and no cars and in the next road by eight cyclists and three cars. I also entertained myself by noting the dog poos. Three, all laid by small dogs and one, although it was barely 7.30, already trodden in. Since it was right against the wall, I thought it would have been easier to miss than to hit. I decided to return by the canal path, the other side from where the boats are moored. There were about fifty steps down but only about twenty up. I’d never noticed that the road went down, but since the alternative was that the water went up, it must do. Several chaps had overnighted on the benches; five in fact. Two of them were asleep. It was lightly raining, but they were all sheltered by the trees. One was eating breakfast. I felt I should offer him my coffee, but then I’d have to go and buy coffee for everyone – yes you’re right, it would have been polite. I am sorry.

I went out again an hour later to go and buy stuff. This time, there was a tiny green dog poo. It really was not much bigger than a raisin and right in the middle of the pavement. I reflected that, if the dog’s owner couldn’t be bothered to pick it up, it would have been the least possible gesture of courtesy to toe it into the road. It really was unusually green.

When we went out again, it was raining. I had an umbrella, but it was a small one. I remembered to look in the cupboard by the front door and, indeed, Weeza and Phil had left a couple more brollies there. One was very large and marked with the name of Weeza’s one-time employers. I gave it to Ro and he held it over both of us.

I exchanged a text or two and settled in the nearest pub for our blogmeet.

I bought new telephones about three weeks ago. I was fed up that they don’t really do the job too well. Cordless digital phones don’t like our house, presumably because of the thick walls; although maybe because of the spiders and woodlouses inhabiting them. I bought one simple, unelectric corded phone, in case of power cuts – and in view of our 13-hour cut last Friday, that was sensible.

But that’s the only one I’ve plugged in. There are instructions to be read and followed and programming to be done, and the inevitable disappointment when they don’t work in most of the rooms of the house. I’m staving it off. What a little fool I am.

All went very well in London, and I had a lovely time, as did Ro. He thanked me for it when we arrived home, which was perfectly charming and not at all necessary; the company was altogether delighful. We came back with a laden suitcase, which has destroyed my light-travelling credentials (though the Boy can vouch for my usual behaviour. Oh wait, no, that implies he has met me more than once. Well, put it this way, he was surprised that I had no visible hand luggage and was slightly underdressed for November. I think it was November.) and I will have to be ludicrously casual in future to regain them. At that, I left a small rug behind because the case was full and will have to fetch it next time.

It is not impossible that we might have found tenants for the flat, but I’m not counting chickens. I could count eggs though – the Sage picked a great bowlful today. he was woken in the night by a great squawking – sadly, the fox caught one, who was sleeping out, but no more. He’s made every effort to shut them all up tonight, for the beast will be back.

I’ve got a great big suitcase, which is nearly empty but won’t be tomorrow as it’ll be full of bed. Phil left their inflatable bed and the pump behind, but they’d rather like it back. They also left a rug and a blanket. I’m not sure if they left loo roll, so I’m taking that to be on the safe side.

I know it’s hard for you all, darlings, but you’ll hardly miss me at all, honestly. I’ll be back tomorrow evening,

A slight hiccup when I couldn’t find the spare Oyster card, but then it mysteriously turned up in the drawer where it was supposed to be and where I’d already looked thoroughly. I have also remembered to put in the keys to the flat.

Time to get ready. If you’re at the British Museum this evening (early) or the Chancery restaurant in Cursitor Street (late), do say hello. You’ll know me by my green eye and red handbag. No, they go very well together. And the chap with me is my son.