The Sage was in London today on business, so I set the alarm for 6 o’clock. That is, I thought I had, but it seems I made a mistake and set it for 7 instead, so he had to bustle about a bit to be ready to leave in half an hour. The bantams take most of the time available. I settled down in bed with a book and read for two solid hours. I got up, my pleasure increased by the frisson of guilt. On the sheep/lamb principle, I deep-conditioned my hair and strolled down to give a reproachful Tilly a belated breakfast.

Weeza and Zerlina came over later, then Dilly and Pugsley joined us for lunch. We spent the afternoon together, with Squiffany once nursery school was over. Dilly has to decide, before too long, whether to teach next (school) year or choose to be full-time mum. We debated the point with pros and cons – childcare and suchlike being one of the considerations.

I cooked a lovely piece of gammon for dinner, and served it with mixed vegetables (swede, carrot and celery), beetroot in yoghurt sauce and mashed potatoes. It went down well, which is more than can be said for the discovery that the Sage had gone around London – smart areas – in bright green gardening gloves. He was indignant at my protests. It’s no wonder that we rarely go out socially together. I expect everyone assumes he’s terribly posh, with his ancient tailor-made suit and peculiar accessories. Either that or they think he’s a complete down-and-out with a splendid charity shop down the corner.

It was good to spend a two hours reading. I’ve been puzzled, after a lifetime of obsessive reading, to have almost stopped over the past couple of years. That is, I’ll read maybe three or four books in a month rather than in a week, and if one doesn’t grab me in the first hundred pages I’ll probably abandon it. But I’ve read two books already this week and have started a third. I’m trying not to analyse it. I want to see where my fancy takes me.

My children are lovely, as I’m sure you’ve gathered. Since Weeza moved this way from London, we’ve seen each other pretty well every week and she and I have become very close – not that we weren’t, but increasingly. Ro, this evening, unexpectedly hugged me again, which is not that frequent an event. The firm he works for is likely to be moving offices (more people work there and more parking is needed) and if it’s to the other side of Norwich, he’ll be looking to move that way. I’m supportive of course, and he knows it’s genuine, while acknowledging I’ll miss him. Maybe he’ll miss us a bit too (not to mention the hot dinners that await him every evening, hem hem). And then there’s Al, who came over all protective today when a good friend asked him for my address and he wouldn’t let it out without my say-so – the point being that the arrival of the post was meant to be a surprise. Over-protective, but better than under-, so what can I say? (well, I’ve gently pointed out the lack of necessity, but can hardly be cross.) And then there’s the Sage, who hasn’t made any comment about my limp, my cycling, my weight loss or my occasional ‘ouch’ (or the fact that my hips aren’t quite as flexible as they used to be – veil drawn and all that) but, I have discovered, had been on the phone anxiously to our offspring about me. As they are to each other, which I didn’t know at the time.

Of course, the Sage never said a word when I put on weight, so there’s no reason for him to remark when it goes again. Even a comment might indicate some sort of judgment, so he doesn’t make it. Awfully polite, we are. Well, he is. No, we are. Yes, me too.

I’ve had a relaxed day, which was good. I read a lot and did my exercises. We had a leisurely breakfast with our guest, whose meeting (where he was doing a presentation) didn’t start until 11, so he and the Sage, who had made an appointment in Lowestoft to fit in with giving a lift, left a little after 10 o’clock. I’ve hardly set foot out of the door today and have been lazy (although I did do my exercises). One of the good things about having someone to stay is that afterwards you don’t have any housework for a bit as you’ve done it all.

We finished the fish pie for dinner, which didn’t thrill Ro as he’d taken some of it for lunch today and he felt like a change. He said he’d prepare himself something, but I offered to make him an omelette. I suggested, rather randomly, shallot and cheese in it and then, as he was very hungry, offered croutons too. This somewhat combined two of my favourite omelettes; shallot and chilli, and cheese and croutons. I didn’t have any fresh chillies.

The first is particularly fabulous if you’ve got a cold or feel cold – just chop and fry a shallot or small red onion in butter, then chuck in the green chilli, sliced into rings, then bung in the eggs beaten with salt and pepper. The chilli pieces can be hot enough to bring tears, if you’re lucky, but because it’s so quickly cooked the hotness doesn’t permeate the eggs.

The latter is too fattening and I don’t make it any more for myself, but my mum, sister and I used to cheer ourselves up with it sometimes after my father died. Fry some cubes of bread in mixed butter and oil, put on one side, dice some cheese to the same size as the croutons, wipe the pan and put in fresh butter, beat eggs with salt and pepper, tip into the butter when it’s stopped sizzling but not started to burn (obv), when the omelette is half cooked add the cheese, then the croutons. Tip onto a plate while still runny in the middle but the cheese has heated enough to start to melt. Fold it over and the middle will continue to cook a bit so that it’s not so runny and the cheese, eggs and croutons meld rather deliciously. God knows how many calories – you could do cubes of toast instead of croutons and do just a little cheese which would help but not be quite so gorgeous.

Anyway, I have knitted a bit more of my hat. I went for one with straight needles which is sewn up at the end. Embarrassingly, I discovered that my brain couldn’t cope with going straight into ribbing – you know how the first row or two winds itself round the needle? – I got muddled and kept forgetting whether I’d knitted or purled 2 stitches, as I was supposed to, or 1 or 3, and I couldn’t tell as it was too early and obviously if I got it wrong it wouldn’t work at all. So I pulled it out and am just doing stocking stitch. Amazingly, I remembered how to purl. If it isn’t quite right I’ll pull the whole lot out again and make my scarf longer – I’ve taken the precaution of leaving it on the needle rather than casting off. It’s a bit lowering to be so rubbish, I must say, but I daresay I’ll get better at it. At the knitting, that is, I’m already proficient at being rubbish. But at least I did the exercises.

I’ve got a sheet of exercises from the physiotherapist. Some of them are to do standing, a couple standing on a step and a few more lying on the bed. Two or three times a day, I should do them. I’ve managed one of them once today, I was busy. I feel guilty already, especially as I assured the nice man that I was highly motivated and would do whatever would help. Anyway, he gave me some lovely ultrasound and another appointment for a fortnight hence.

This afternoon, I got the Sage to do the hoovering. I just kept pointing him at another room and he politely kept going. He’s not superb at it, admittedly – if there’s a magazine lying on the floor, for example, he’ll hoover round it and when it’s picked up there’s a pile of gubbins underneath, but this is a small fault and easy to overlook. I don’t believe in being critical when someone is helping me. It’s discouraging and ungrateful. Better to give total praise and then, next time, remember to mention in advance that it’s a help in doing a really good job if you move stuff about a bit.

Ro helped me with dinner. We’ve got a friend staying and so I chatted over a glass of wine and was a bit late starting on a slightly complicated dinner – not elaborate, a simple fish pie, but there were a lot of separate parts to it. I asked Ro to mash potatoes and he didn’t know where the potato ricer is kept. Evidently, he doesn’t do quite enough in the kitchen normally. However, he did a lot to help and I was, again, grateful and appreciative. For a pudding, I meant to poach pears but Squiffany went to sleep so I had to babysit next door instead of getting on with some cooking while the children were here, so I made them into a crumble instead with a jar of quince preserve, which worked well.

I’ve been told again that swimming would do me more good than anything. I don’t quite like to explain that I’m too timorous to take both feet off the bottom unless I’m holding on with at least one hand. I am very capable of floundering helplessly at the bottom of the pool, even when I’m not out of my depth. I hardly ever even lie back in the bath as when I relax I have been known to slip under the water and panic.

Ooh, the dinner must have been all right. I thanked Ro for his help, again, and he kissed me goodnight. This doesn’t often happen. The Sage always kisses me when I make him a pudding, too. Isn’t that splendid?

I whiled away half an hour or so this evening getting an online quote from the company that offered the best overall deal yesterday, taking into account the extras given such as breakdown cover, windscreen replacement etc. It had said that there was a compulsory £100 excess and a voluntary £250 excess, but gave no info on how to remove the optional excess, so I thought that going to its own website rather than a price comparison one would sort that out.

Big mistake. It was the most absurdly overcomplicated form I have ever completed. It wanted to know the date on which I passed my driving test. And when each of the other named drivers did. This is not information given on your driving licence as far as I can see and when, as in the Sage’s case, it’s more than half a century ago, however does it matter? It offered me fully comprehensive insurance for all drivers or for over 25s or for over 30s, but then wanted me to name and go through the details of any person who could drive the car. it wanted notification of medical conditions – fair enough if it’s anything that affects driving but there was a massive list and in my case, for example, the early stages of arthritis is hardly relevant, except presumably to bump up the premium (I put ‘none’ for each of us). Every other form, when asking for the occupation of named drivers, offers a few general types or else lets you type in the first few letters and then suggests options. This one, you had to scroll down hundreds. It wanted to know whether not only I, but all named drivers, were home owners or not, even though I’d put them down as occasional, casual users of the car. The Sage got a speeding ticket a couple of years ago. It wanted to know the date, the points and the fine, which is fair enough, but then it asked the date of the offence. What? How is one to remember that?

It looked to me suspiciously as if it would check out every little detail and if I’d put in that I passed my driving test on 14th April 1971 instead of 17th May (whatever, I don’t remember the month, though the year is correct) they could refuse to pay out on a claim.

Anyway, I persevered out of stubbornness in the end, and finally got my quote. It was for £469.31. Now, this is the same company that, through a broker, offered £241.91 yesterday. Furthermore, it didn’t tell me what I was getting for that. It didn’t ask if I wanted courtesy car, breakdown cover and the like, or tell me what excess I’d be paying. My telephone number was a required field. I’m afraid that I’ll tell the unfortunate call centre worker what I think of the website and the quote.

Today is the Sunday when I am sidesman for the 8 o’clock service. I was so convinced I’d oversleep that I hardly slept at all. From about 1 am for half an hour, then fitfully, waking every half hour for at least ten minutes from 4ish, having given up and read for a long time in between. So I’m more than usually stupid today and, on seeing people’s bewildered faces, had to cast my mind through what I’d just and correct it.

Home from the second service – I know, it’s because I’m a wicked person that once isn’t enough – and we’re just off for lunch with Weeza and family. Hooray!

I know this goes the rounds, or a variation on it, quite often but I’ve seen it a couple of times in the past few days (done by Lis and LizSara) so here we go…

1. Put your iPod or iTunes library, MP3 player, etc. on Shuffle.
2. For each question, press the Next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS.

– IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY?” YOU SAY…
Making plans for Nigel – XTC

– WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Nobody knows the way I feel – Sidney Bechet

– WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Nothing better – The Postal Service

– WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
My melancholy baby – Django Reinhardt & Stephane Grappelli

– WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
The only one -Evanescence (that needs a question mark to make any sense)

– WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
They all laughed – Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong (ain’t that the truth)

– WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
I’ve found a new baby – Django Reinhardt & Stephane Grappelli

– WHAT IS 2+2?
Judy – Hoagy Carmichael

– WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Kansas City – Okkervil River

– WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Clementine – Bix Beiderbecke

– WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
String Sonata no 1 in G minor (Rossini)

– WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Future lover – Madonna

– WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Keep it close to me – Superdrag

– WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
The sunny side of the street – Billie Holliday

– WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Loving that girl – Scott Miller & The Commonwealth

– WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
The bends – Radiohead .

– WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Dovunque al Mondo – Madame Butterfly, Puccini

– WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THIS TEST?
Al fato dan legge – Cosi fan Tutte, Mozart

I had the notice to renew my car insurance a couple of days ago. It was over £400, which I think is a bit steep. So I went online to have a look around. The best (not cheapest) deal I could find – better in some respects but with a larger excess – is about £240. So I had a Jimmy-look-see at my own insurance company’s website. Hm. Assuming I currently have a £100 excess (I’d have to go look up the policy to check that) it’s £312.49. They do mention a 10% discount for buying online, but £95 is rather more than 10%. Evidently, I must ring up after the weekend and have a little moan.

We had a similar sort of thing in the church a few years ago. Well, it’s not the same but it gives rise to a similar reaction. You see, our benefice (group of churches under one minister) always paid its quota in full. That is, the money we pay to the Diocese which covers the cost of the minister plus National Insurance, pension etc. and a bit towards the Diocesan admin and upkeep of the Cathedral – others know more about its reckoning than I do. But lots of churches don’t pay in full and few pay very little. So the suggestion was made that the churches which do pay in full should pay more to cover the costs of the ones that don’t, rather than the latter being called to account for it. There was a meeting where full and frank (but entirely polite) exchanges of view were made. My contribution to that meeting was to say that paying in full is what matters. If you do, you take satisfaction from that and you do your best to achieve that payment every year. If the amount asked is bumped up to an impossible level and you fail, even by £100, you haven’t achieved your aim and you have to come to terms with that. But the next year, does it matter much, if you can’t pay 100%, whether you pay 99% or 90%. And in a few years, even much less. Don’t move the winning post too far, I suggested, or the bond broken may never be repaired.

It’s a bit the same with my insurance company. We used to have a lovely bloke called Steve who came round and did the renewal for us in person. When we first, on the recommendation of a friend, asked him to call, he undercut Norwich Union by so much that we not only insured our cars but our house and contents with his company (CIS, if you’re interested). And it never went up to an unseemly extent and they were brilliant if we had a claim, so we didn’t shop around. But once I got a bigger and newer car, it took a big price hike, and by then their policy was to use the telephone rather than a person, so their valued personal touch had gone. And now that I’ve found they’ll offer a lower price to a new customer, the loyalty I’d have for them is completely gone. So, even if we come to terms and I go with them after all, I’ll check online every year. Which I’d rather not have to bother to do. Yes, arguably I should have been doing it for a long time already. But it’s the degree of overcharging, you see. I’d certainly pay a few tenners not to have been bored witless putting in the details of this and that several times, but they have chanced their arm too far.

Gosh, I couldn’t do with being a teacher. Far too much like hard work. I managed last week and this week I only had a governors’ meeting plus today in Music and German. I’d rather thought it was French, which I can speak (well, up to the standard of the average GCSE student I can) so it was a bit surprising. It was fine, year 9s and then year 11s, but when I left I was tired out. I went into town and parked outside Al’s shop and saw that the nearest butcher’s shop was still open. I staggered in. “Steak” I said, Homerishly. I bought three large hunks of meat for about a tenner and went for vegetables. Al had the shop door shut, which is a sign of extremely cold weather.

Not that we’ve had the snow some of you have had. Booooo. I’d not mind snow. I love frolicking in snow. I have no objection to the whole country coming to a standstill (preferably while people are safely tucked up at home rather than trying to get somewhere) so that we can all go out and play. It happens so rarely and we don’t often have carefree fun.

Anyway, I came home, ate three rice cakes and ate a bowl of plain yoghurt and drank a mugful of weak milkless tea. I’m a woman who knows how to indulge myself. Actually, I’ve a bar of chocolate right here by my chair and I’ll have two squares of it later. Iron will? Oh yes. Not that I’m boasting, I bore myself. I think fat people probably have more fun. Thank the Lord for alcohol.

Anyway, I babysat for an hour and a half and then came back and cooked dinner. I didn’t eat all the steak, good though it was. I’ve read the papers and I need to book a train ticket for the Sage, who has to visit the Dark Metropolis next week.

Oh, and I have hiccups. I should chew food before swallowing.

Blimey, our local health trust is good. I phoned on Tuesday morning for an appointment and was offered one, with the doctor I asked for, at 3 o’clock the same afternoon, which disconcerted me a bit as I thought we’d shilly-shally around possible times/days for a few minutes and then agree I’d have to ring back in a day or two. This wasn’t for any dramatic reason, just that he’d suggested I call in every few months to say how I was getting along and I last visited a year ago. This sounds dilatory on my part but isn’t really. He sort of wants you to have something to say, even if he hasn’t made that clear. So I waited until I did.

In the summer, hip was fine, could dance until dawn and all that, but since October has been not so good, thus demonstrating that cold wet weather is not good for arthritis. Sometimes I limp heavily, which worries others more than myself. So I asked if this might strain my spine, knee and other hip. Sensible question, you see, and he suggested I self-refer to the physiotherapist at the local cottage hospital.

Next day, the Sage took the form in.

Next day (this morning, in fact) I was phoned offering an appointment on Monday.

Gosh. A bit fast for something completely non-urgent (and under the NHS, not privately). I’m terribly impressed.

Except, I don’t actually care for this sort of thing. And it’s suggested that I wear loose-fitting trousers (well, I ‘might be more comfortable in’) or shorts. Shorts? I don’t possess any. And the only loose-fitting trousers I have are those I have shrunk out of, and they aren’t the sort of thing it means. I am scruffy, but rarely casual. Fortunately, Weeza has a pair of what, apparently, are called ‘jogging bottoms’ (?) which she bought for yoga when quite newly pregnant. So they had room for growth. And I’m a size smaller than she was (how come she was slender while I am still pudgy? Damn short-arsedness!) Anyway, she’s not only offered them to me, but invited us over for Sunday lunch to pick them up. So that’s splendid on all accounts.

And I’m perfectly fit and well, just a bit limpy. And the doctor suggests, obliquely, for we understand what we mean when we don’t quite say (this is fine, it’s a ‘same sort of people’ thing) that I wait at least 5 years for a new hip if I can. So it’s in my best interests to remain unattractively fit and become gorgeously slim. Size 10 now, size 8 beckons.