Ro is home. It took him a few minutes to sort out the internet connection. He thinks the booster thingy froze when the BT connection went off and then reset itself when it came back on. The Sage is very happy.

I spent a couple of hours shopping in Norwich this afternoon. I really didn’t enjoy it. Buying necessary but dull clothes is not my favourite way of spending my time or my money. However, it’s done now and all sorted. But my goodness, Marks and Spencer is a dull shop*. “Would you like to apply for a charge card?” asked the assistant. “I used to have one,” I admitted, “but I used it so little that they took it away.”

As usual, I have plied Ro with much good food and wine. Not, I reminded him, to tempt him to move back home, just to show what he is missing. However, he has discovered, in a phone call to Weeza, that she has him lined up to help in the Great Clear Up tomorrow. He has some reservations about that.

Actually the Luck of Z has struck yet again. A friend phoned this morning and, after she’d explained what she was ringing about and we’d sorted it out, she mentioned that she’s putting things together for a big jumble sale in a nearby town in a couple of months. “Books and stuff?” I said hopefully. She will be glad of anything.

Oh, dear girl, she doesn’t know what she’s let herself in for. If Weeza has her way, half the contents of this house will transfer, in boxfuls, to hers.

* I don’t blame M&S specifically for this – I think all chain stores are dull and annoying. Rows of almost identical clothes and when you finally find something you like, it’s there in every size but the one you want.

I’m supposed to phone the surgery to arrange for a home assessment. This would happen automatically, As If By Magic, with the NHS, but both Weeza and a friend who is a Health Visitor have advised me I’ll have to sort it.

It’s slightly embarrassing. I’ve only got a few segments of spare time. I’m sure it’s not the done thing to say you’re too busy to see a health worker except on a few specific occasions – choice of, that is. It’s not that easy to go back and insert a couple of words with the phone. Much as I appreciate it, I’ll be glad to get online on the computer again.

I’m none too pleased with myself. I had a little nap after dinner. I never sleep in the evening normally, it’s such a staid thing to do. But neither the Sage nor I slept well last night. And Dilly said that nor did she and Al. I think the temperature went up in the night. Seems absurd, a couple of degrees difference when it’s not much above freezing, but four of us can’t be wrong.

This afternoon’s meeting was the Festival committee. The Festival happens in six months’ time. No one can say we’re not dedicated. Actually, I only ever offered to write up the notes. I do my best to steer clear of most of the actual work.

We think the children’s disco has had its day. It’s just a matter of what to put in its place. A Friday evening when High Jinks are planned for the weekend – there’s some money in hand to pay for some entertainment, but it’s a matter of attracting children and their parents. And not being too much work for those who will be working flat out the rest of the weekend. Hmm.

One of the more useful decisions I made in the last few weeks was to buy a phone contract with Internet use. Because I seem to have broken our home internet connection. Ro is coming home on Wednesday evening to put it right (I say with confident trust) but until then, this is all I have and it is, of course, the week I have to get back to work. I’ve spent half the day painstakingly tapping out emails and the rest typing and my eyes have gone a bit funny.

Al and Dilly aren’t so lucky, unfortunately and none of them has Internet at all. I feel very abashed.

I’m afraid I won’t be visiting many blogs until things get put right.

I’ve been meekly taking Good Advice from my daughter again. Zerlina is quite strong-willed already, I’m already forseeing some clashes of personality in six or seven years’ time, or whenever girls turn into teenagers nowadays. Weeza is, of course, right and I have capitulated meekly. If she didn’t love me she wouldn’t care. I have warned the Sage that the house is going to be thoroughly done over on Thursday as complete decluttering is her way of doing housework and, with enormous kindness, she and Dilly don’t want me to be worrying about it while I’m laid up. Bless, as they say. My sister has similar thoughts. It’s only too evident that other people are far more concerned about my housework than I am.

I don’t think I’ve ever told you about one of my more silly adventures, some years ago. It was New Year’s Day. We’d spent the evening with our friends Stuart and Caroline, and it had snowed hard during the evening. The next morning was dry and sunny and I took my dog Chester and my mother’s greyhound Henry out for a walk. Tilly stayed at home in the warm.

The temperature had been freezing for several days and the river was iced over. We walked over the three bridges towards the marshes – I should mention that, here, “marsh” does not imply boggy ground, but low-lying water meadows that provide a natural flood plain in wet weather. The dogs ran and played over the snowy field. The ice on the river made a strange ‘singing’ sound as it creaked and crackled against the bank and Chester was intrigued and trotted over to investigate. I called him back but it was too late. His feet slipped from under him and he fell into the water.

I went to the bank and looked down. He had vanished. I thought he had gone under the ice and I felt strangely resigned, as there was nothing I could do. Then I realised there was a slight overhang and Chester was there, treading water, looking up at me trustingly. There was nothing to hang on to and it was at least a couple of feet down to the water, too far to reach. I took his lead and made a loop – I thought that if I could get it over his head, I might be able to yank it enough to grab his collar. It wouldn’t matter if I half-choked him, if I could only get a grip on him.

It was awkward and I couldn’t get it over his head, and then my feet slipped and I found myself lying on my back on the edge of the bank, unable to move. I lay there wondering what to do. Any movement would send me in. Chester was still silently paddling. Fortunately, Henry was ignoring us and rambling around the field. After a few minutes, I decided that something was better than nothing, and I let myself slide into the water.

Chester was thrilled and immediately climbed up me and draped himself about my head and shoulders. He was an Irish setter/bearded collie cross, about the size of a golden retriever. He was heavy. I was up to my chest in water, but there was a slight shelf for me to stand on. I started to walk along the edge of the river. It was only a few yards to a bend and then, a few more yards on, the bank fell away to a watering place for cattle – if I could get there, I could just walk out.

I discovered that the ice came in three layers where the water level had fluctuated and it had frozen each time. So I couldn’t walk directly and it would be impossible to swim, even if I didn’t have 40 pounds or so of dog on my head. I lifted my leg up and smashed the ice down with each step. I rounded the corner and the bank was a little lower. Chester seized his chance and clambered up on the bank and ran joyfully around, shaking the water off his coat and rubbing himself along the snow to dry himself. I wondered if he’d fall in again, but he and Henry scampered about and ignored me.

And there I stood. I couldn’t go any further without getting into deep water. The shallows weren’t far away, but unreachable. I’m not sure how long I stood, and I considered how long I could last. I didn’t feel all that cold, funnily enough, but the longer I was there, the less I could help myself. However, Z’s luck held and, after several minutes, I heard footsteps.

“Er, excuse me,” I called out diffidently, “Do you think you could help me?” Yes, polite and frightfully English to the end. Stephen appeared and looked down at me. He’d brought his camera to film the snowy scenery, which was very beautiful. He’s keen on wildlife and hoped to film the birds. I gave him my hand – it wasn’t far up to the bank, but there was nothing to hold on to – and he hauled me out. I dripped. He went and fetched my sheepskin gloves, which I’d taken off while I was trying to loop the lead, and held one out. I pushed my fingers at it but they wouldn’t bend and I couldn’t get it on. I didn’t feel cold but I was completely numb, too numb to know how cold I was. Stephen walked me home and delivered me into the care of the Sage, who ran me a hot bath and poured me whisky.

I was fine and so was Chester. No after-effects at all. Except I had awful bruises on my legs from forcing my way through the ice. The next day, my mother noticed them and asked what I’d done. I said that I’d fallen up the metal steps of the bridge and bruised myself. I never told her the truth. A bit late to worry her about it and she’d only fuss.

I understand that Stephen has dined out on the story ever since. Fair enough.

I had an email from someone, sending me some pictures of Oulton Broad frozen over, because he’d read here that I’d grown up there. He’s left a couple of comments a while ago, under the name Bill in Lowestoft. His email address had his last name in too, and so I wrote back asking if he was a son of people I’d known years ago, and he is. He hadn’t realised who I was – in fact, I don’t think we’ve ever met, but he knew my family name. I think that’s great – my parents knew his father professionally and my sister worked for his mother at one point, and they were good enough friends to visit each others houses. My mother still kept in touch with his father with Christmas cards after his mother died.

And I received Dave Walker’s calendar in the post, and he also put in a couple of his church cartoon cards and postcards. Really kind, I’m ever so pleased.

It’s lovely dry crisp cold, with perfect snow for building snowmen. I’m not very bendy at present but helped Al and Squiffany for a bit. The Sage got out the sledge and took Squiffany out on it. I’m enjoying this much more than the damp iciness before Christmas. It’s not too easy to get about in, but all the reflected light off the snow dispels any SAD tendencies.

Wink went home today – we were all a bit anxious about road conditions, but she said it was all right and she’s got home safe. It’s a bit dull here without her, and my wine consumption has gone right down. I suppose I’d better get into condition for a few dry days in hospital. I daresay I won’t be allowed while I’m taking painkillers – a good reason to be as stoic as possible. Anyway, my liver is looking forward to the rest. I wonder if I’ll feel the better for it?

Nothing on television so I’ve been listening to music all evening.

I’ve got to be out by 7.30 tomorrow morning for the early service. I suspect no one else, except the minister, will turn up.

Very aware, the young consultant. He came out to greet me and walked back to his room – I slowed down and didn’t try to keep up with him. When we went in and I’d shut the door, he said that I felt I’d thrown in the towel, but that I was making the right choice. That was exactly it, I hadn’t put it in the right words. I replied that I do feel I’m throwing in the towel, but that it’s the necessary decision, so I’m accepting the situation.

Then he said that the manufacturer has, in the last few weeks, withdrawn the hip resurfacing technique that they have, in Norwich, tried and found wanting. That gave me the opportunity to say that I hadn’t realised, until I read his letter to my doctor, that he was left with the impression that I wanted to pursue that option – he’d convinced me that it wasn’t right for me – in fact, had I been going to ask for a second opinion I’d have told him so. I explained that the main reason I was interested in it was because I knew I couldn’t hold out much longer. However, I’d hoped to last another year without a full hip replacement but, fortnight by fortnight, my hip has deteriorated a lot in the last three months .

Later on, he said that a year was worth waiting but a few months isn’t. That was exactly what I’ve been saying and my self-justification for going for it now.

Also, he used his dictaphone to say what we’d agreed, and also for his secretary to type a letter to my GP. Interestingly, he did it in front of me whereas, when he thought I might not agree with his point of view, he did it later, whilst sending me a copy. Also interestingly, he mentioned that I had walked carefully so as to minimise my limp – I knew that, but intended to disguise it. I had chosen not to use a stick, although I would have if it would have meant I’d limped less, but had walked slowly and carefully. He’s perceptive and makes the effort to empathise, which I appreciate. I thanked him, at one point, for not resenting my pointed questions (he could have taken offence, I didn’t hold back) but answering them fully without justifying himself. Good chap. I like him and am predisposed to trust him. He might well have been surprised by how easy I was to deal with, compared to how I was before – but if you know me well enough (it’d have to be very well or in specific circumstances) you’d understand that. I challenge if I disagree and it matters enough, or if I think there’s any point to it.

Put it this way, if you came to me for a high-up job and you thought you’d had an easy interview, you’d probably not get the job. If I gave you a hard time, it’d be because I thought you might be worth it. And if you disagreed with me completely but argued your case convincingly, I wouldn’t have to be convinced of the argument to appreciate the strength of your ability to make your case.

I asked about the anaesthetic, angling it rather from the hope of a spinal one (which I mistakenly called an epidural – they’re both in the spine but different apparently). He said his preferred option is a spinal anaesthetic as patients recover so much quicker, but a full one can be chosen if the patient doesn’t care for the idea or is very nervous. I assured him I’m very relaxed. The operation should take about an hour, which is less than I’d thought, and I will have a horizontal incision across my hip, going from the side backwards. He said I should be largely, and probably completely, recovered, in 6 to 12 weeks.

I am, as LZM says, tough (in an awfully girly and gentle way, natch). Focusing on the operation as an interesting and very clever thing will help me to ignore the bloody and creepy part. I don’t want to carry on as I am, getting worse. However, I can cope. I managed perfectly well in the shop today, but carried things a few at a time instead of a whole bag or boxful. I could have, but that wouldn’t be sensible. I don’t want to hurt myself unnecessarily just to prove I’m man enough.

I had a lovely email today, and something lovely in the post. Tell you tomorrow. It’s well after midnight now and I’m going to have to backdate to make it Friday’s post as it is.

I was too worried about the prospect of having the consultant’s appointment cancelled to ramble on as usual yesterday, but now at least you all know what I look like full-face.

There was only another inch of snow this morning, but there was no telling how the weather would go – this area seemed to be the least likely to be badly affected – but the roads were quite bad and the schools were closed. The Head rang me during the morning, he said that it was largely that uncertainty that decided him; having 1,000 people milling about with it being several hours before school buses would turn up and a lot of staff needing to get home is an incentive to err on the safe side.

Matt the Fishman (not in a merman sense) turned up to the market, so I bought fish for dinner and we finished off the beef casserole for lunch. That was the last of the Christmas joint.

The appointment wasn’t cancelled, but I cautiously set off in such ample time that I arrived nearly 40 minutes early. All’s okay, if there’s room on his schedule and in the hospital (his secretary will be in touch shortly) I will have the operation on the 22nd.

I’ve assured him that I’m a model patient. It’s true, I am. I’m very motivated and I take good advice well and act on it. I think the fact that, on being advised by my doctor a couple of years ago to take more non-weight-bearing exercise, I went straight out and bought a bicycle and started to use it at once (I rode home from the shop) even though it was November, and have been cycling regularly ever since, demonstrates that. I don’t enjoy it at all, although it sometimes is not an unpleasant way to travel, but I still do it, whatever the weather … except snow. Or extremely strong winds. A neighbour was blown off her bike in a North Sea gale (that is, she was on land but only by 50 yards or so) and broke her femur.

The last couple of nights, I haven’t been able to sleep in any position but my left side and even then I’ve woken in discomfort several times. I want this all to be over – I’m finding it difficult. I still feel that I’m a bit young to be faced with old-lady arthritis (that is, it’s not early-onset, nor is it caused by accident or injury) and, whilst I’m quite relaxed about the prospect of the operation from a procedural point of view – I assume it’ll all go fine and if there’s any sort of problem it’ll get dealt with – I am actually quite horrified to have a bit of my body cut off in a body-is-a-temple, self-cherishing sort of way. And yet at the same time, I feel quite drawn to the practical side of the operation itself. It’ll be a spinal anaesthetic, not a general one, so I hope I’ll be aware enough to remember about it afterwards. If I’m offered a choice of level of sedation, I am interested to find out what I’ll choose.

Anyway. There we go.

so here’s a photo from several months ago, when Weeza, Zerlina and I went to one of the Broads to watch birds. We took a boat back in between downpours – unfortunately the timing wasn’t brilliant and we were soaked a few minutes after this picture was taken by random friendly strangers.

Anyway, here are the three generations of Z-girls –

I should add that I don’t normally put up such total exposure, so it may vanish in a day or two.

PS. I have got a right eyebrow all the way, it just was a bit faint that day, is all.

Really, I have, and it’s up there in marigold for all to see. Not having received any calendars for Christmas, I am most thrilled to have won this one, and many thanks to Dave (not you, Dave, Dave).

We did take our friend to lunch to the Yacht Club and looked out at the yacht basin. You can see it yourself if you look here – http://www.rnsyc.net/news.php – excuse me doing a proper linky but, just in case they check referrals, I think I’ll retain a hint of anonymity here. It’s worth copy’n’pasting though, as there’s a Live Webcam which updates every minute. I should warn you that at present there is little to see but twinkly mooring lights and a large edifice which is an oil rig site under construction, which will eventually be towed out to its destination, so it might be better to try again during daylight hours.

The temperature was zero all day and the forecast is more snow. However, I’m pleased to say that the pavements of Yagnub are impressively well gritted. It was a good thing I went in this morning to check prices, because sprout stalks, aubergines and cauliflowers had all come in from the wholesaler at more than yesterday’s retail price. Eileen was very busy all day and I should think she’s tired out tonight. The Sage was just locking up when an anxious man came up wanting potatoes, so he opened up the shop again and sold him some. Occasionally, local shops hold more appeal than supermarkets several miles away.

I looked after Squiffany and Pugsley for an hour this morning, early because Dilly was tutoring out in the Saints at 9 o’clock and the roads are still icy. Al went into the shop to set up, and then left Eileen to it because the family were going on holiday. Just for the week, at Center Parcs – they all like it there, there’s lots to do and it doesn’t matter what the weather is like. And it’s almost impossible for Al to take more than a week off work, at least with me in my state of being pampered. Of course I could manage the shop for a week or two, but I’m not allowed to do anything much by anyone any more. I look rather worse than I feel.

So, Eileen is going to run the shop from 8.30 to 2.00 every day, and the Sage will help her to set up. I’ll go in and check the prices from the wholesaler in case grapes or cauliflowers have suddenly shot up overnight to more than the previous day’s sale price – this sometimes happens, in a manner that can be understandable but can appear quite random. For example, do you remember a big container ship that sank off the south-west coast a year or two back? All sorts of things were washed up on the local beaches, including motor bikes and heaven knows what, but for the next week or so there was a decided shortage of bananas. And cauliflowers do not care for weather like this and if they get frosted they don’t keep, unlike cabbages and sprouts which don’t mind in the least, but can be difficult to harvest. Even under glass, tomatoes and the like won’t ripen – not that you can get English tomatoes at this time of year, but it’s no warmer in Holland.

Tilly is being especially sweet and happy at present. She’s seen a lot of the children, which she loves, and she’s also thrilled that Wink is here. At this time of the evening she’d usually be on her own on the sofa, but she’s cuddled up behind me on my armchair instead. I am pleased to have her there and don’t mind in the least that I’m perched numbly on the very edge of the seat.

We’re slightly limited in what we’re doing because of the weather. I can’t get out on foot and the road is icy, though the main roads are clear. We will ring up a friend in Lowestoft tomorrow and see if he’s free for lunch – he’s been ill and has had to go into residential care because he can’t manage on his own any more, but he’s been well enough to get out more recently. Tomorrow is the only day I’ve got completely free this week, but Wink has got other friends she wants to see and, as I’ve got a meeting in Bury St Edmunds on Friday afternoon, we’re planning to go there for lunch first and then she can potter round the town for a couple of hours. My meeting is in the Cathedral, though it’s not church-related – just using a meeting room there – so she can end up having a look round there before we go home again.

We might have lunch in the Yacht Club in Lowestoft. I’m still a member and so is the Sage, although we rarely go there any more. I can’t possibly give up membership – I’ve been going there since I was a baby and my grandfather became a member there about 100 years ago, when he came to live in Oulton Broad. The Sage and I had our wedding reception there.