It was all very jolly. We all converged upon John Lewis in Norwich at noon. The Sage and I left home after Dilly and the children, but their car was behind ours in the car park queue. The Sage got out to go and meet his sister, Juniper, and I went to park. I thought I’d try the lower ground level first, as sometimes there’s a space which people don’t spot as one has to go there specially. A woman was just stowing her purchases in her car, so I waited. And as I waited, along came Ro, on his lunch break. I parked and we went upstairs, and on the first floor (this is the second floor as far as you’re concerned, dear TransAtlanticeans) we met Dilly, Squiffany and Pugsley. Up the escalator and there were the Sage and Juniper and, as we pushed together three tables to sit together, along came Weeza and Zerlina. Juniper hadn’t expected quite such a gathering of the clan and sat down on the Stilton which was her Christmas present.

We had a lovely time. Juniper cuddled Zerlina and was rewarded with smiles and Squiffany chatted to her in a friendly manner. She has two grandchildren herself, aged 11 and 6 and she always rents a cottage near her daughter, where her son and his partner stay too over the holiday.

Our niece’s husband died suddenly in November last year, and then she and her brother were both ill at Christmas (in a D&V way) so they had an entirely miserable time. On the anniversary of Jonathan’s death, she and the children wrote messages on helium balloons, took them to the cemetery and sent them aloft for Daddy, which cheered up the children a great deal. One of the daughter’s schoolfriends lost her father this year suddenly, at the age of only 41, so young E feels for him, but is comforted somewhat, though no less sympathetic, by knowing that she no longer stands out as the only one to be pitied.

This, I requested from Liz Sara and this is how it goes –

You write about ten things you love that begin with your assigned letter, and post it on your blog.
Then people leave comments on your post and you assign them letters and the cycle begins once more.

Letter R.

1. The Sage. As you will know if you’ve ever followed the Day Job link, his name is Russell. And as you know if you’ve read this blog for any length of time, I love him.

Um. After a start like that, anything else is a descent into bathos. Still, here goes. In no particular order –

2. Raspberries. The fruit, that is. Absolutely delicious. The best of all the soft fruit, as far as I’m concerned. Autumn raspberries are even better than the summer ones. I don’t mind the pips. I like pips. And if you put them through a sieve, there’s still some body to the purée, unlike a strawberry purée, which is just juice (I’ve nothing against strawberries, mind you).

3. Rivers. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing half as much worthwhile as simply messing about in boats. That’s probably a misquote, because I haven’t checked, but I do love being out on the river in a rowing boat. There’s so much to see – the birds and other wildlife, interesting eddies and currents, the fish and weeds in the shallows – and yet it’s quite peaceful. I feel as if I’m away from any cares of the world. I find rowing satisfying – I like it better than sailing because you can (assuming you’re not in training or racing) watch what’s going on or else go into your own little reverie.

4. Reading. I get anxious if I don’t have a book or other reading matter on hand at all times. I’ve been hooked on reading for a full half-century. I still remember the first book I was able to read by myself and the thrill it gave me for those formerly random letters to make actual words and sentences. I read the book over and over again. It was a Ladybird book, The Farm.

5. Roses. A perfect flower. However much used, not hackneyed. Nothing beats the scent of a rose garden, nor the cool soft touch of the petals.

6. Resourcefulness. I do like people who rise to the occasion, who cope.

7. Ripping Yarns. I enjoy a shaggy dog story, don’t you? Life of Pi by Yann Martell is a case in point. The ending made me laugh out loud.

8. Remembering. As you know, I often do write about memories, and there’s nothing like shared memories to bring you close to someone. Like me and Weeza with Miff Heehog the other day.

9. Rings. I sometimes don’t wear jewellery at all, except for my wedding ring which has worn such a deep groove in my finger that I look odd with it off, but when I do it starts with rings. Usually, my engagement ring (sapphires and diamonds), my 50th birthday pale blue sapphire ring and my mother’s rose quartz ring, which is not at all valuable but which she nearly always wore.

10. Romance. I’m an old softy.

Ten is quite hard, but it’s been a pleasure to drift along. Let me know if you’d like a go and I’ll give you a letter.

I went through to Al’s house at 8 o’clock this morning carrying a tray with a bowl of porridge, a mug of Rose Pouchong (we call it Rose PooPong of course) tea, my contact lens, my make-up bag, a comb, a mirror and the papers. The children were awfully pleased. The Putting On of Granny’s Face is an important ritual.

They waited while I ate breakfast. Then, Pugsley unzipped the bag and started to lay out the makings of the Face.

First, I put in my Seeing Eye. Then I asked for the eye cream. Pugsley passed to Squiffany, who passed to me, a small tube and they watched as I applied the cream. Then the moisturiser. They marvelled to see wrinkles melt away. Next came foundation, then powder and the brush it’s lightly applied with. Next came eyeshadows, in two colours, applied with a sponge and blended with another brush. The first brush wafts under the eyes to deal with stray specks of eyeshadow. Blusher is put on if I remember. Then mascara. Lipstick. Hair is combed. As each item is finished with, Squiffany hands it back to Pugsley to put in the bag.

Young and lovely again, I read until the time comes to take Squiffany to nursery school.

Christingle this evening at the church. Squiffany sat next to me and was angelic; Pugsley, next to his mother, was excited and noisy but this was not noticeable over the sound of the Brownies and the Beavers (I think they’re called Beavers; they’re what Cub Scouts used to be, I believe. Their leader is Akela at any rate). Squiffany held her orange with the lit candle at the end, her face lit up, enthralled. After she blew out the candle, I said she could eat her sweets and raisins if she liked. She slowly and carefully took them off three of the sticks and ate them. “I’ll save the rest until I get home” she decided. “All for you” I said, “Pugsley’s eaten his.”

Pugsley had done well today in any case. The nice lady at the shop in Ditchingham gave him a (wrapped) chocolate, having asked me if it was okay. He was very pleased.

The morning went fine, thank you, and that’s another thing ticked off. The chap who took pictures didn’t want to email them to me as you lose some picture quality (not that I’m fussy). “I could put them on a memory stick and send them to you” he said. I fished in my handbag, got one out and passed it over. People seemed surprised. But it’s useful to have such a thing about one’s person at all times, like a corkscrew and a screwdriver. I’m sure that at least some of you do the same.

Actually, I’d love to know of there’s anything you carry around with you, apart from the obvious necessities, that seems normal to you but others might think a bit obsessive. For example, I have the aforementioned pen drive, a Swiss army knife, a contact lens container that has two Migraleve tablets in one side and two ibuprofen tablets in the other (and I have handed both these out in the past to strangers in pain), a couple of paperclips, safety pins and rubber bands, three badges with my name on, as well as the normal wallet, comb, lipstick, diary etc. I don’t think any of this is particularly out of the way and when I’m using a larger handbag, I’ve got a whole lot more. Any thoughts?

Waah. Think of me in two and a half hours. It’s one of those ‘ain’t what you say it’s how you say it’ ones. And then I’ll have my picture took. Nerves have suddenly kicked in and I am feeling all trembly.

Off to Norwich. I may be gone for some time.

Overcome by nostalgia, I have ordered a second-hand copy of a compilation of the five ‘My Word’ story books.

That isn’t the only manifestation of nostalgia. I’ve bought a present for my daughter as well.

Every child has, I suppose, an absolute favourite first book, toy or game which is remembered (and maybe treasured) forever. Each of my children did. Al’s was Dr Seuss’s Fox in Socks, which he knew all through, tongue-twisters and all, and pretty well learned to read by, when he was 4. Ro’s earliest favourite was Janet and Allen Ahlberg’s Each Peach, Pear, Plum, which we still have and I read to my grandchildren. Weeza’s first literary love was a book by Althea Braithwaite called Smith the Lonely Hedgehog.

She knew this book by heart well before she could speak in sentences. When she was not much more than a year old, she started to join in as I read it to her, and by the time she was about a year and a half (now, if blogging had been invented then I’d be able to tell you exactly when, as I’d have written about it) she could interject any word when I paused. I’d start “Smith was a heehog. He lived all by himself under a flowering bush near the edge of a wood” (words in italic were Weeza’s of course). ‘Miff Heehog’ was asked for repeatedly every day. It was a narrow book – if you fold a sheet of A4 paper in half, top to bottom and then fold it the same way again, that was it, long and narrow. New, it cost 20p. It had the poor binding of most books in the 70s – several of my cookery books of that vintage have pretty well fallen apart – and was well read and loved. It didn’t occur to me to buy another copy while I could. I’ve looked for it since, but it’s out of print long ago and second hand copies, when available, are in poor condition and silly expensive.

But Weeza has tracked it down, reprinted. She’s searched before without success on Lulu, but at last it’s appeared. As you’ll see, it’s now printed in a squarer edition, but I seem to remember that range of books by Althea and various other authors did appear in that format after the narrow one.

I’ve bought from Lulu before; Shaggy Blog Stories and a couple of others, and I even remembered my password; they already had my address and credit card, so it took me less than a minute to order. I’ve bought two copies. Weeza will have such a happy Christmas. I don’t think she’d care if she didn’t have any other present.

I had occasion to remember the radio show My Word which starred Frank Muir and Denis Norden many years ago – in particular the shaggy dog stories they told at the end of the show which finished with a given punch line. One, which I quoted on Dave’s blog, was about someone who grew ferns in his garden and no flowers at all. The punch line was ‘with fronds like these, who needs anemones?’

Then there was the Inuit who lit a fire in his canoe to keep warm and it caught fire, proving that you can’t have your kayak and heat it. And the tribal chief who stacked all his ceremonial chairs in a traditional hut until it collapsed, which just showed that people who live in grass houses shouldn’t stow thrones.

I grew up on this sort of fare. Maybe that’s the reason I appreciate Murph.

Funny that there isn’t time for housework, but there always is for cooking. And eating.

Zerlina has started to laugh this week. I was lucky enough to be the recipient of her chuckles yesterday, while Weeza was out at the hairdressers. Later, I sang to her and she started to smile again – she is a remarkably smily baby – and Weeza got out the camera and started to film us as Phil gets home too late to see much of her in the evening. It was woefully embarrassing, being filmed singing nursery rhymes, but I carried on as if not deeply mortified.

Today, went into school for a Year 9 music lesson again. I do like the children. Not having to put up with them for more than 100 minutes a week, and not having any direct responsibility for them (except as a governor), I can remain cheerful even when they’re cheeky or misbehave. It was interesting, a couple of weeks ago, seeing them with another person in a position of authority whom they appeared not to respect. They were a bit difficult and not at all how they behave with the music teacher – nor even with me. But then I’m old enough to be their grandmother and I’d not hesitate to play the assertive card if necessary, although I’m normally gentle and jokey with them. If I see someone doing something that a teacher would have to tell them to stop, but which is no big deal, I just grin. Or make a point of not noticing. In fact, I behave like an indulgent grandmother who has Boundaries, now I come to think of it.

Other people’s teenagers are much easier than one’s own. It’s a wonder my children and I all talk to each other, really.

Sorry, I haven’t read emails except business ones and hardly any blogs. All getting a bit on top. I’ll catch up soon.

Tonight, I went to the high school’s music concert, which I greatly enjoy each year. It made me think of a class concert that a girl organised when I was at school. She came up with the idea in a ‘hey! let’s put on the show Right Here!’ sort of manner, so I agreed to join in, never thinking it was going to happen.

I learned several things that day. Well, I learned one and had my instincts confirmed about two others (I did the right thing, was not wise after the event).

One. I may have taken part in the school play with confidence and even have enjoyed it, but playing the piano is a bit different, as nerves go straight to the fingertips.

Two. There’s no point in stopping. It only draws attention to your mistakes and your nerves. Keep going, but play as fast as possible. You may bluff them.

Three. It is always wise not to tell your parents about times you’re likely to make a tit of yourself. Then your kind mother will not try to console you, which would destroy the faint hope that *two* had worked.

I was highly annoyed. I was looking after the children, but had a hair appointment at 10 o’clock so was going to drop them off with Al in the shop for a while. One car seat is usually kept fixed in the car, but the other only goes in when it’s needed. It’s a bit awkward to fix in place, but not that much trouble. The Sage said he’d take it to the car for me and put it in if he could. We all went out and I stared in dismay. Somehow, he’d put it in upside-down. That is, the seat back was horizontal and the seat cushion was vertical. He’d threaded the seatbelt through where it was supposed to go, I’ve no idea how as it should be tilted up to give room, and fixed it firmly with the clips, which were well stuck down as it was all done at the wrong angle. I can’t imagine how he didn’t see that the fixing for the belt was, in the place he’d put it, right in the middle of the child’s back.

It took me ten minutes to get it out and put it in again and I hadn’t allowed that much time. I had to carry Pugsley, who is a sturdy toddler, as there wasn’t time to let him walk and I was limping heavily in no time.

The Sage was abashed when I told him. Fortunately, I didn’t see him for an hour or so, so at least I didn’t shout. I did describe him to his grandchildren as an ‘idiot’ however.