Tomorrow, I’m meeting my sister and her house guests at a local inn for lunch. It’s the old friends whose Golden Wedding party we went to last September, down near Bristol. Lynn has now been officially diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, which she’s probably unaware of but, though he already knew, I suspect it’s painful to her husband. So he decided on a road trip to visit friends and family and, of course, they’ve got a standing invitation to visit us. They arrived last Saturday, I’m not sure how much longer they’re staying. Wink is taking over Izzy duties here for the next few days, so she’ll drive over and I’ll drive them back. I considered inviting them for lunch here, but I really am not much in the mood for preparing food for guests.

Tim and I went to the place I have chosen to meet, once. Five or six years ago, I suppose it was. It was the sort of meal that was okay, palatable, but clearly most of it was bought in and heated up to order. But it’s easy for Wink to find as it’s on the main road and not far from here, with plenty of parking, so it’s straightforward.

It’ll be the third meal out this week. On Monday, we met another friend at what has been a favourite restaurant about halfway between home and here, near Norwich. It changed hands in April, just before we went there as a whole family for Sunday lunch for Wink’s birthday. Surprised not to have Sunday roasts on the menu, but we had a good meal. On Monday, we found that the previously interesting menu was somewhat curtailed – of course, there’s nothing at all wrong with a relatively small menu but it wasn’t that, it was just less interesting. We all had fish and chips, which was a slight fallback – that is, it’s safe and normally reliable when you’re not sure what to choose. I think I was the unlucky one as the batter on mine was somewhat pasty on the inside and needed a couple of minutes more cooking – I always remove and leave the batter though, so it didn’t really matter. The fish itself and the chips were fine, though the peas could have done with another minute’s cooking – not easy to go wrong with frozen peas. I’m not sure that I’ll be in a great hurry to go back, which is a pity. It’s a great location and we’ve had many good meals there.

At the end of the month, my American not-cousins are coming to stay for a fortnight. I’m making plans for their visit.

I’m over at Weeza and co’s house at present, looking after Izzy while the family are in Crete. I met Ro in Norwich today for lunch – we went to Namaste Village, an excellent vegan/vegetarian restaurant. I chose the vegetarian Thali meal but I suspect it was actually vegan as the yoghurt had certainly never seen milk. It was the only part that was less than delicious, being slightly sweet and not yoghurty. Otherwise, excellent.

I used my bus pass for the first time. I’ve been eligible to have one since I was 60 I think – I don’t think that you actually have to be a pensioner, but not sure, but anyway, I’d never claimed it. In the last decade, until today, I’d used a Norwich bus exactly once. But, as I had to get a new driving licence and passport last year, I thought I might as well claim the bus pass. The park and ride bus isn’t free, but it’s £2 for a whole day ticket. Other buses are free and I’ve only just found out that London buses are too. I thought you could only use them in your own area.

I’m getting over a cold – I don’t think it was Covid as the current variant, pleasingly known as FLiRT, apparently has a constant cough and a high temperature as its main symptoms. I’ve had and still have a cough, but by no means constant and I haven’t had much of a temperature. I had to cancel several things, though, the weekend before last.

I was tired tonight and went to bed early. Too early for Izzy, who cried. So I got up and took her for a walk and am now waiting until 10.30, when she will deign to go to bed.

I’m still dreadfully despondent and that’s the reason I don’t often write. There are various things I don’t feel able to talk about – so much on my mind, far too much. And the upcoming 10th anniversary of Russell’s death and 3rd of Tim’s weigh heavily. I’m outward and upward looking, I do all the right things, but the fundamental lowness has to take its time to lift. If it does. My daughter wants me to ask for antidepressants, but she doesn’t understand. It’s cause, not effect that’s the problem. I can and do cope, I’m just so awfully sad. I hide it well, though. I don’t normally say anything.

In other news, I’m hugely tempted to buy an Aga kettle and a paddle for bread and pizza, which are 20% off in the sale. I don’t strictly need either of them, but I want them. I’ll sleep on it. It may well be that I’ll have come to my senses by the morning.

Yet another jolly, this time to London – to the Tate, to be precise.

In my position as programme planner for the local Nadfas, I do a bit of research into forthcoming exhibitions, particularly London ones and, of course, I trot along and visit them. We went to the Expressionist/Blue Rider one at Tate Modern back in April. Yesterday, we went to the other London Tate to see the John Singer Sargent portrait exhibition and the one of women artists in Britain over the centuries – though women were largely prevented from painting seriously, there were some very determined and talented ones whose works, while often not well known, are very worth seeing. The lecturer we had, back in the spring, had helped to curate this exhibition and it was good to have had some foreknowledge.

We didn’t really make the most of it however, so I hope we’ll have time to go back while it’s still on. Our lovely friend in Kent wanted to join us, but she’s hopeless at time and we spent far too long waiting for her, which curtailed our time at the exhibitions – we had to catch the 4 o’clock train back, which meant us leaving at 2.45, to be safe – and more of that in a minute. We said we’d wait for her and go in at 2 – we’d missed each other at the Sargent one as she was so late – but we had to give up and start without her, which only gave us half an hour. Wink has promised never to tell her about anything we’re doing, in the future, unless we have limitless time. We love her dearly, but she’s completely unaware of other people’s needs. Though she’s always apologetic, it doesn’t stop her.

Anyway, we left with plenty of time to spare, because you never can be entirely sure with public transport. The bus took nearly 10 minutes to come, but that was fine and we got off at Charing Cross, walked down to Embankment and got onto the Tube platform. We needed a Circle line train and all three on the board were District, the last arriving in 11 minutes. We were a bit worried at that point, as there was no guarantee that the next would be Circle. So I suggested we took the next train, got off at Monument and walked through the convenient underground walkway to Bank, whence it was one stop on the Central line to Liverpool Street Station. With me so far?

I said, when we get to Monument, we can look at the board and see if there’s a Circle train soon, when it’d be worth waiting. There wasn’t. That meant there must have been at least 5 District trains and over 15 minutes – might have been longer – without Circle, at the start of the rush hour on a Friday. Not vastly impressed. Anyway, all went well. We got to Liverpool Street at about 3.45 and were able to go straight onto the train, which left and arrived on time and we were home by 6. Lucky with the weather, it’s bucketed down today, with thunder and lightning at one point.

Back to London again next week, for Wimbledon. We’ve got off-peak tickets this time, no particular train, so can leave when we want. If it’s peak time, we’ll have dinner somewhere on the way back.

As far as my father was concerned, it was the Other Place, the village on the Cam that wasn’t worth noticing, so I never went there until after he died. I don’t know if it’s the same now but, 50-odd years ago, the Oxford/Cambridge rivalry was real.

Today, I went with the local Nadfas group there – I still call it Nadfas, but it changed its name a few years ago. We went to the marvellous Kettles Yard and then to Kings College Chapel, with a leisurely lunch between and a stroll afterwards. So beautiful there. When cousins Rhonda and Victoria visit, I plan to take them there. They’ll be bowled over.

They’ve got unfortunate timings for their plane journeys. I don’t know when they’ll arrive on the 31st, but they leave Heathrow at 6.30am on the 13th August. I just can’t inflict a train journey, arriving at midnight, on them so I’m hoping to have a couple of nights somewhere nice, within an hour or two of the airport, to drop them off – probably still around midnight, but at least they will have had a good dinner and not a long journey before their start – and then carry on westwards to Pembrokeshire for a few days. Anyone got any thoughts? I’m wondering about Salisbury, but maybe somewhere closer? Just a few good places to see, arriving lunchtime Sunday 11th (I’m planning a family meet-up on the Saturday) and leaving late Monday night. It’s tight timing, so maybe nearer here, as then I won’t be doubling back. Oxford? Or maybe, making the Cambridge visit on the way and staying near there for a couple of days. Really not sure, at present.

I opted for a postal vote a few years ago, when I would be away during an election and I’ve left it. So my lack of enthusiasm for voting had to be addressed relatively early. I considered not voting at all, because there’s no party I have wanted to vote for, not for years and i’ve voted three different ways in the last three general elections. But not voting just feels wrong too. Anyway, I finally chose and voted and posted it, so if I wanted to change my mind, it’s too late. I am very aware that I don’t matter, anyway.

Wink is away for the weekend and it’s no more quiet here than usual, yet it feels quieter. Ecat has been obliged to make a fuss of me, because she has no one else. I had to get up at 7.15 to give her breakfast, which would have been fine if I’d not spent most of the night awake – as it was, I went back to bed and to sleep and finally got up after 9 o’clock, to the indignation of the outdoor cats. Barney had a lot to say about it.

The bantams are being so good. I count them all back every evening and they are all present and correct. Two are broody and stay indoors, the others love their freedom. Not having a cockerel makes it easy, as I know I won’t have a clutch of chicks to deal with. However, I don’t necessarily rule out bringing in another boy in the future. I don’t feel any need to decide, for the time being. My daughter instructed me, a couple of months ago, not to have another cockerel. I was a bit upset, in fact. I realise I’ve reached the age where my children think it’s okay to tell me what to do and not what to do – only the older two have done that so far – but I’m not so old that it feels acceptable. I do have a long term plan in mind, but it may never happen and I haven’t mentioned it to anyone.

I’m blathering, because I’ve got a lot of plates spinning and can’t talk about them. But it would be wrong to complain. My long-term blog friend Ally, of Ducking for Apples, who had to stop blogging for extended family reasons a long time ago, lost her daughter – not unexpectedly, it had been on the cards for a decade and the likelihood crept nearer as years went by – and her funeral was today. Nenna was only 15. Their dignity – the whole family’s – and grief are immense. I watched the funeral online and it was very moving. The vicar was lovely. Where to go from here, I can’t imagine it. For several days, they have had a funeral to arrange, which has taken much less time than day-to-day care for a child who needed frequent nappy changes, showers, tube feeding, endless entertaining, lots of love, but now there’s nothing except the regular, ordinary stuff that hardly matters at all. But caring for yourself, your partner, your older child, your parent and your pets takes some of the time. The first part – caring for yourself – is probably the hardest, but no less necessary.

I’m taking swimming lessons. I have had two swimming positions, floating and drowning. To avoid either of them, I’ve held on or kept a foot on the bottom, for years. This is silly. I now can move from floating to standing. I haven’t yet cracked not drowning if I don’t have a foot on the bottom (unless I’m floating), but I will have by the end of Wednesday, because this is ridiculous. If not duffers won’t drown.

I just tried to remember what I did on Saturday. It took me a couple of minutes to realise that it is Saturday. Ronan and the children came over, which usually would happen on a Sunday and – well these things happen.

The youngest in the family, Perdita, has just inherited her brother’s bike and she cycled up and down the drive several times. With stabilisers, but I don’t think it’ll be long before she jettisons them. She’s small but strong and has good control of steering and managed the upward slope on the way to the road. One doesn’t really notice the slight slope – nowhere near a hill – until using a bike.

We had various meats, fish and cheese with salads for lunch. The children are used to lots of different foods but they felt a bit adventurous in trying smoked prawns, mostly because of the shells. Their father shelled them for him and gave them a quick rinse in a finger bowl so that there wouldn’t be any bits of shell or feet left. I hadn’t, admittedly, provided the finger bowls and felt quite upstaged. Anyway, the prawns were gorgeous. I encouraged everyone to finish them as a pack is too many for me to manage and I’ll be out all day tomorrow.

Schools don’t really appreciate that parents have work to get to, even though it’s been over three decades since mothers went back to work when their children were small. There’s a ‘taster’ session at Perdita’s school before the end of term, just an hour for the child and parent to see the school and take part in various activities. But an hour at school means at least half a day off work. It’s Ronan’s week, so he’ll probably juggle his time – his employers are understanding about his childcare responsibilities and he catches up in the evenings when he needs to – but it means a day off nursery, so he’ll try to get an alternative day rather than waste the money. It’s like walking to school – Ronan can as he works from home, but when Dilly had a child to get to school, another to nursery and then work by 9 o’clock, there was no alternative but to drive, even to the village school 500 yards away. It’s no wonder that parents feel such pressure – and that more people decide against having children at all.

But anyway, I’ve offered to help if needed – Perdita and I can have a jolly in Norwich after her school hour, or go to the park if the weather is good.

Tomorrow, as I said, I’ll be out all day. We’re going to London, to the Queens’ Club tennis finals, Wink is keen on sport, mostly tennis and rugby, with a nod to cricket too, so I’m happy to go along (mostly to the tennis). I’ve been letting the chickens out recently, having rather lost my fortitude for a while as I didn’t want any more chicks. Now, we don’t have any cockerels, so no risk of that, even if they do lay away. But so far, I’m counting 18 out and 18 back again. Tomorrow, they won’t be pleased with me as I’ll keep them in their (very big) run. At least they enjoyed the prawn heads and shells this evening.

I used to blog daily and it became ridiculous. I was, occasionally, obliged to post at just before midnight, on my phone, nearly asleep, so that I didn’t miss a day. It’s slipped so badly that it isn’t part of my life any longer and I really miss that. I’d like to resolve to blog daily, mostly, but I’m not entirely confident that I’ll keep it up. It has to be a way of life or it doesn’t really work – not necessarily daily, but regularly.

I’m struggling quite a lot, but you wouldn’t know it to talk to me. I seem relaxed and cheerful and that’s the best way for me to manage. I’ll acknowledge when I find things hard but I still put on a brave face. Anyway, more about that would be really boring, so let’s move on.

I’m getting overwhelmed by china at present. I’m helpful, that’s my problem. But it’s not as simple as that. Someone gets in touch in November and I pick up their china, which is not very valuable. Ditto in January. I start contacting people who might have better stuff and it gets some results. Then, come April, people want to enter better pieces in the sale and, by June, I’m getting too much. But the later things are better than the earlier things, so I start juggling. Not literally, obvs. This is how I am now. My colleague D is coming over on Tuesday and we’ll sort things out. Although on Wednesday I’m meeting a friend and collector, who wants to enter some pieces…..

Spinning plates, constantly re-evaluating, trying to help everybody without over-stressing myself, this is what I do. I have to own it. Denying the person I am won’t be much use to me and it’s just a matter of recognising when it’s getting too much.

It was too much last week – and the week before, in fact. I didn’t open a letter from my solicitor, not because I thought it had any bad news but because I felt overwhelmed and opening it would mean I had to deal with it. Then I got a second letter. So yesterday I finally opened both of them, emailed a response, phoned a neighbour because signatures needed to be witnessed and – just like that – it was all sorted. It would have been no more stress or effort to have done it ten days earlier, but I didn’t, even though I knew it was better dealt with than worried about.

I get tired of all this. Most of the things that worry me are imposed, not instigated by me, but I don’t have anyone to deal with them for me. Too many plates spinning and some of them just won’t be settled and stabilised.

Today, however, I helped someone. Her dad died earlier this year and he was a collector, a compulsive one and she was shocked to find the condition of her parents’ house. She took a sabbatical from her job, moved in with her mum and is sorting things out, but she’s overwhelmed and I understand that, so D and I are putting ourselves out to help her. To everyone who’s helped me, thank you and I’m paying it forward.

Wink and I have booked a visit to London next month to see exhibitions at the Tate and we’ve booked trips to the theatre too. What I’m doing is not giving up good stuff for obligations. It’s just making me overly busy but, if anything gives, it’ll be the boring bits. If I’m not at a meeting, it doesn’t matter.

The old faithfuls came to the party, no newcomers this time and a few apologies (and one forgot, but I’d only half expected Charlotte!).

Blue Witch wondered how everyone is getting on these days. Well, Sir Bruin, aka Steve, retired early from his Very Important Job, a few years ago and has been far too busy enjoying life since to miss it. He and the Small Bear Liz go away in the Hodmedod (caravan) regularly and are really very sociable, considering that Sir B pretends not to be. Liz was about to give up her part time job and pause to think what to do next – she’s far too young to retire, but is not sure that’ll stop her.

Sir B, who is a kind and thoughtful type, which he tries very hard to hide, gave me a present of a soprano ukulele – he’s determined to get me back to playing musical instruments. I have been playing it, also the clarinet, but I’m dismally inadequate nowadays and it’ll take a lot of work to get even a bit better.

Indigo Roth and the Lady Lisa are both enjoying married life. They’ve been an official item for 9 years now and got married about a year and a half ago, having bought a house in a lovely village in Cambridgeshire. Indigo is about the kindest man I know and was wonderful after Russell and then Tim died. So much above and beyond the usual warmth of friendship and Lisa is his equal.

Zoe and Mike – she blogged from Brussels, a long time ago and Mike wore Da Hat, but this was long before they met – came from near Peterborough. Zoe, who can’t drive, hasn’t found it easy to get employment but now works as a teaching assistant, which she very much enjoys. Mike still mends electrical goods and takes fine photos as his second job. They come with Scout, the border collie, who is getting stiff nowadays because of hip dysplasia, which has given him arthritis. I can sympathise as that’s what I had. But it’s easier to pop in a replacement joint with people. Mike and Scout stayed the first weekend. Zoe was able to stay the whole week as it was half term and then the guys came again on Saturday for another night.

Rose had to cry off because of hay fever season. She really struggles every year and nothing seems to put her right. Wink also has bad hay fever and takes medication all year round – her asthma is also a problem for her now, but she doesn’t suffer from pollen as much as poor Rose does. Ronan had picked up some bug from his children, who were with their mother for the weekend, so he couldn’t make it either.

While Zoe was here, Nandini also arrived from Chennai. She came over last year too, with husband and son, but it was a working visit this time – she’s a photographer. She took a lot of pictures of my house, especially pleased because it was untidy. It has taken all my willpower not to mind that. Clutter looks worse in photos and I’m not sure what her project is about, but it can only embarrass me. However, I can only choose not to be embarrassed by it. Because I don’t actually care that my house is cluttered and was, I can’t deny, even more untidy than usual. It’s been very difficult because of the repeated floods inside the house. Bloody mice eating pipes. I ran out of time to clear up, though I’ve done it now. Mostly.

Since, I’ve been catching up with stuff and spent this weekend typing up 70+ pieces of china and some books, some of which will go into the next auction. Tomorrow, I will go to the funeral of a very old friend – in both senses of the word, as I’ve known her over 40 years and she was in her 90s. She and her late husband were great collectors, particularly of Lowestoft china but of many other antiques too. My colleague David and I are rather apprehensive about the future of our auctions, as when her china is sold, it’ll rather spoil the market for a few years to come – unless it enthuses a new generation, perhaps.

It’s 51 years since Russell and I got married. 50 would have been a milestone, but it wasn’t because he’d already been dead for nearly 9 years. So it’s even less of one now. Yet, I feel melancholy. It’s good that I’m getting ready for a party, because it’s stopped me dwelling on it.

We’ll be a select bunch this time. The Bears have been to every party, bless them. Indigo came to the third I think – I lose track – and he and Lisa, once they’d got together, have not missed since and nor have Zoe and Mike, since their first, which I think was 8 years ago. Rose has, of necessity, come and gone and she’s cried off today at the last minute because of hay fever and general unwellness. My friend Charlotte is expected, but that’s all, as far as I know, as Ro is also unwell. So I’ve overcatered, but that’s nothing unusual. I am sure the chickens will like leftovers. I did have the sense not to prepare too many dishes, once I knew that there wouldn’t be any vegetarians. It’s very tempting, as I love feeding people.

The gazebo canopy won’t arrive until Tuesday and I’ll grumble about it. I paid a lot for next day delivery and being told at 8.30pm that I’m not getting it isn’t good. It’s the couriers rather than the sellers, but that’s not really the point. Although we went from an 8% chance of Saturday rain on Wednesday to a 75% chance now, so eating outside wouldn’t have been likely anyway. Better really to just lay the table indoors. I’m just wondering if I’ll need a fire.

As long as it’s not too cold after that, nor in August. When our Indian and US friends visited last May, they were a lot colder than they expected to be. Hats indoors and log fires and they were still cold. It’s unpredictable, English weather, and always has been.

My cat has cold-shouldered me for a fortnight now. I was away in Wales for a week, came back on Wednesday, brought grand baby Perdita back for the day on Thursday and was away that night, returning the next night with Perdita and her brother, who stayed until Sunday. ECat has not forgiven me. I’m being kind but unyielding. I shared my dinner with her (she’s not ignoring me to that extent) but ignored her when she stood on my computer table and purred for snacks tonight. She’d had snacks and she’s quite fat enough. Now she’s demanded to go outside and I don’t expect to see her before breakfast time. Cats forget their loved ones if they don’t constantly remind themselves. I’ve got too much else to think about.

We had two exceptional evenings out at the local theatre, where they sometimes show films. I hadn’t seen One Life before; the story of Nicholas Winton, who – not without help from brave friends, one of whom did not survive the Nazi takeover – saved hundreds of children, mostly Jewish, before the last war. If you saw the Esther Rantzen That’s Life programme when the whole audience was made up of those people, you’ll never have forgotten it and the film did him justice.

Last night, there was a live-streamed performance from the Royal Opera House. The opera company and the ballet company share performances equally through the season and they’re going to reflect that with a change of name. I’m not sure if the RBOH will quite take off, though it’s a slightly puzzling acronym, but anyway, it’s was ballet’s turn last night.

Until last year, I never quite got ballet. But Don Quixote won me over and it’s changed my perception of the art. This time, it was a quite new ballet: The Winter’s Tale, from Shakespeare’s play that’s mostly remembered by ‘exit, pursued by a bear.” It was fabulous. It was first performed 10 years ago and Hermione, in that series of performances, coached the dancers in this. Joby Talbot wrote the music, which I must look up to hear again, because it was impressive. The dancing was wonderful and the staging and production made one of Shakespeare’s lesser plays into something far better.

Today, I’ve been getting ready for the weekend. It’ll be a simple meal, I’m reverting to a cold lunch. I’ll serve salad Niçoise, cold roast beef and ham, with other salads and cheeses and various desserts. When Wince put up the big gazebo today, we discovered that the small tear in the canopy had been a precursor of almost complete breakdown. Luckily, it had the name of the company printed on the side, so I’ve ordered a new one. For a fairly substantial price (no cheaper option) they’ve offered next-day delivery, so I’ve told my guests that they’ll have to put on the new cover, please. They seem to have taken it well.