I’m reminding myself – that is, my behaviour is reminding me – of the winter after Russell died, when I cooked obsessively, even though I couldn’t eat much. I eat more now than I did then – I was too thin and now I’m too fat – but it’s the same need. I’m channeling it (should there be two lls in channelling? I don’t get the red line in either, so maybe it doesn’t matter) into making Christmas presents for the family, so I won’t say more, but it will be fabulously delicious (in case any of my children is reading this).

I made a list. When I do that, I’m either determined or anxious about forgetting things, but it’s the former this time. I’ve even ticked off half the items (15, but I haven’t finished one of them). That’s since Friday. The Z is doing good (sorry, BW).

There are things I want to do and I keep planning, but I don’t decide on any of them. Russell and I were so good for each other about that sort of thing. We encouraged each other in our wacky plans, but somehow, only the doable ones happened. The Wall, for example. There was a privet hedge and, over a few years, it gradually died and we didn’t know why. Possibly simply drought, because the end next to the outdoor tap didn’t die, but it happened steadily from one end, which was odd. We didn’t feel able to replace it with another hedge, in case there was a disease and I said it would be a bit dull to have a fence, so how about a wall? The Sage was enthusiastic, so I then said, wouldn’t it be fun to build it ourselves? I mean, how daft an idea. But it happened. Some of my other ‘ooh, wouldn’t it be fun?’ suggestions didn’t ever happen and nor did some of his. My suggestion of having a third baby took several years to turn into Russell’s idea. But now, I have no one to bounce ideas off and for those ideas to turn into something workable. So I don’t do anything, which isn’t any fun at all.