I met my match in Portugal. I managed the uphill walks to the forts and then to the battlements (I’ll download the pictures sooner or later and might show you one or two) but by Friday I just wanted to rest. It wasn’t that it hurt so very much, but that I didn’t want to go home in poorer condition than I’d left. Actually, two lovely sunny days and a gentle stroll or two was fine.

Nevertheless, I’ve finally admitted to myself that I don’t want to wait another year. And I’m usually busy, and the start of the year is the least busy. The clincher was reading, last night, the itinerary of the visit to Glasgow I’ve signed up for in May and dreading it, although I want to go.

So I’m phoning the surgery for an appointment tomorrow and am setting things in motion. I hope I’m offered an epidural – isn’t the thought of hearing your thigh being sawn through a weirdly thrilling one? No, don’t say it’s just me. Actually, I suspect they’ll suggest I bring in my iPod and drown out the whirr.

Anyway, I peered out at the dismal weather this morning and asked the Sage if it was going to rain again. He said it was clearing up. So, with my usual trusting innocence, I got my bike out, looked for gloves, couldn’t find a matching pair except for fingerless gloves and set off. It was a cheerless journey – it wasn’t exactly raining but there was a liquidity about the air that hung about. I fished a bag out of my pannier to put over the saddle while I was shopping.

When I came out of the first shop, it was raining. I cycled down the road, reparked and went into another shop. It started to rain harder. I engaged the shopkeeper in conversation so that I could stay indoors.

When it cleared up (relatively, it was still damp) I went home. The Sage was out. I hadn’t taken a key. I remembered those happy childhood days when we never locked our house, even when we went on holiday. My father always said that, with our huge windows, a locked door was more inconvenience to us than a potential burglar. I went to ask Dilly for the key and was met in the hall by Squiffany. “Hello, Zerlina” I said, to my embarrassment, especially when she laughed and went to tell her mother.

Weeza and Zerlina were spending the afternoon with Dilly and family, in fact, so I had the chance to give them the presents I’d brought from Portugal, which did indeed include port. Zerlina has grown so much in a couple of weeks – she’s not at all a baby now. Pugsley came running over to kiss me, which delighted me.

Weeza noticed my limp and a discussion began. I allowed her and Dilly to advise me. They encouraged me to go and spend a lot of money on myself to cheer myself up. I told them I’m going to buy the Sage a laptop for Christmas, on Tuesday, and give it to Ro to set it up. I hope he’ll do it before The Day though, as otherwise we’ll spend the whole time clustered around it being helpful and frustrating its new owner. Better if he has a week’s playtime first.

I’ve started transferring next year’s appointments from the back of my diary to the new one. I considered taking them both on holiday and doing it one night when I’d gone back to my bedroom but decided the discipline (I have to choose to be relaxed, do you? It doesn’t come of its own accord) of being diary-free for ten days was too good for me to forego. It’s terribly boring, this transcription, so I’m glad I didn’t take them. Last year I couldn’t be bothered to write in regular things so I kept being taken by surprise for the first couple of months, by when I’d learnt the error of my ways and did the job properly.

Oh. That reminds me, I mustn’t forget to do next year’s Meals on Wheels rota.

I dislike the tyranny of a diary as much as I rely on it. I’ve tried using a desktop diary or an online one, but I have to have a paper diary with me too. I do know people who are careful not to carry one, so that they can’t be pushed into making a commitment they don’t want to, but you only have to make notes on a bit of paper and phone up to confirm afterwards, so I can’t be bothered with that. In the event of it being something I really didn’t want to do, I could always extricate myself by saying that the Sage has arranged something for us both without telling me. Not that I’d lie about it or anything, oh no, as if. Anyway, the home-based diary was meant to be for both of us to fill in, so that we’d know what was going on, but in practice it was only me who wrote in it, and I had to check with the Sage and write his appointments too, so that didn’t last longer than a year. The most useful thing about the one on the computer was that it would fill in the regular events automatically. I make notes against appointments – another thing I learned from my mother’s imprecision – she was always saying to me – “who’s *JL* and why would I be meeting him or her in Norwich next Tuesday. And where in Norwich?” One always thinks one will remember.

It’s the same with the garden. You think you’ll remember where you planted bulbs and what variety of bean is which, but it’s not so easy once they’ve grown*. One year, I’d not had enough labels (no, BW, I don’t buy them, I cut up yoghurt pots and suchlike) and devised a method to remember which tomato plants were which, and then Al kindly potted them on and wasn’t quite sure of my method. We rather took pot luck that year with some varieties. We had an awful lot of tomatoes too, as Al could only sell the labelled ones. We probably made as many soups and sauces as Dave.

That reminds me, I must clear out the plants from the greenhouses. And start on the list of seeds for next year. I’ve got a couple of weeks to go for that – the gardening club gets a sizeable discount so it’s worth my while. I can’t remember if I told you, I’m going to have a new asparagus bed next year. Mine has been there over 20 years and is well past its best. It’s also full of perennial weeds which can’t be dug out. I think I’ll chuck carpet on top and leave it for a year to kill off the lot.

We went out for lunch with friends today. D and her brother F, who was up for the day. The Sage and his siblings grew up with them. Theirs is an extremely posh family, and when the Sage’s sister was asked at tea if she would like butter or jam and she innocently asked for both, it went down quite badly. In those days, the posher the family, the simpler food the children lived on. We didn’t have bread and jam at teatime, with or without butter, so I don’t know how posh we were. We had a cup of Earl Grey without milk.

By happy coincidence, the Sage has just brought me a cup of tea. He is eating a jam sandwich. I wonder if it’s buttered.

*I observe belatedly that this makes no sense. I mean, of course, that I don’t remember the bulbs the next autumn when they’re not visible or the beans when they’re sprouted but not yet fruited. As you realised and kindly didn’t mention. Lucky Dave is away. Though not for any other reason, don’t we miss him terribly?

Not a real post, and I can’t remember the Greek alphabet at present. Normal (ho ho) service will be resumed later or tomorrow.

I developed a migraine within a minute or two of waking up this morning. I didn’t have any pills upstairs and I’m reluctant to walk unshod as I walk funny, so I dressed, so it was 10 minutes or so before I took Migraleve. Sadly, that meant it didn’t work. Now, I’m just starting my 3rd migraine of the day. I’m working through it though, it doesn’t help to give in. If I did, I’d have to go to bed for at least 2 hours and I’d still feel fragile all evening.

Still, lucky it didn’t happen yesterday. I couldn’t have driven like this. Fortunately, I touchtype so not seeing properly isn’t a problem.