Time and tide ... wait for me!

BST, GMT, Daylight saving, Spring Forward, Fall Back - God, I don't know; it's all horribly confusing. I know I can be a bit slow going downstairs as I stop to chat to the houseplants, giving them a little prune and a sip of water, but I'm sure it doesn't take a whole hour.  I suppose we'll get synchronised eventually.  The dog is permanently hungry - well nothing new there - and I am constantly tired except in the morning when I am rearing to go.  Also when's elevenses?  Is it the new elevenses at tensies or is it twelvsies which puts out my lunch.  Add permanently hungry to my other jet lag symptoms.  Isn't the whole thing designed simply to annoy the Scots and keep them in the dark?  It's certainly confusing me.  I think the only solution is to hibernate until they change the clocks back again.  I am taking Mr Smith to John Lewis today to buy a new duvet for this very purpose.

I've had some very odd dreams lately.  On Saturday night I had to dig the long jump pitch for the Olympics; I did quite a good job actually.  On Friday night I won X Factor and married Simon Cowell which made Gary Barlow jealous. Last night I had to finish the chocolate cake - that was a nightmare.

The recipe: Masses and masses of chocolate, eggs, butter, sugar, double cream, condensed milk, golden syrup, more sugar, more chocolate, more butter, icing sugar, cocoa powder, chocolate flakes, chocolate buttons and a birthday candle. Cook some of it then combine all remaining ingredients in an interesting way and eat.  I feel so sick.

Chocolate construction

Mr Smith took me and the dog to golf.  We went to a course by the seaside and I had a go at hitting.  Actually, it's not as difficult as I had imagined.  Of course Mr Smith didn't give me the right tool; I had a spindly little iron but I did the best I could.  He then took out something that looked like a weapon of mass destruction and whacked the ball into the totosphere.  That was the end of my golf.  Luckily he had a friend to play with.

We then went to Sissinghurst where I proudly waved my National Trust card and went in for free whilst Mr Smith had to pay an absolute fortune.  He then pointed out that, as this is the only National Trust property I have visited this year, I actually paid three times what he paid.  Oh well, I will have to quickly whizz round all the ones that are still open.  This will be a busy day as they mostly close at the end of October.

It's the BB's birthday.  He is 22.  I have made him a chocolate cake.  It involved making a chocolate cake, cutting it up and pouring toffee all over it then some chocolate icing.  However, it didn't go quite as smoothly as that.  It got stuck in the tin; I extracted cake bits and goo but it is a bit of a mess.  I'm sure nobody will notice once I've tarted it up with chocolate icing, buttons and flakes.  After all it is chocolate; so is the kitchen.

And here it is.

Go go gorilla

You would think with Mr Smith constantly at home I would be rushing out of the house every minute of the day but I don't much.  This is probably due to extreme idleness.  Today, I did get out.  I went to the V&A to meet M-C at the coathanger gorilla.  Oh my goodness.

We had lunch and decided half term should be abolished - all those horrible children!

There is a pudding that Mr Smith particularly hates, lemon meringue pie. Last night I made him plum clafoutis which was a right fag but he kept on and on about these damned plums he had bought so I thought I'd better magic them into something before he exterminated me.  "This is like lemon meringue pie" he said after eating a large helping.  I nearly threw it at him.  It's nothing like l.m.p. you unappreciative goat.  I am not cooking for him any more.  I eat mouthfuls of the clafoutis every time I go into the kitchen - it is delicious ... a bit like lemon meringue pie.

Secret stitches

I have come across several "How to Make a Quilt in a Weekend" articles.  Firstly, kill your family then eat no food and do not move from your sewing machine, even to go to the loo, for two days.  What they should say is How to Make a Quilt Surreptitiously without Your Husband Noticing.  I am working on this.  Mr Smith has given me a very bright yellow pair of golfing trousers to alter.  I am really sewing the edges of my latest quilt but whenever he appears I pick up Banana Man's yellow trousers and make it look as though it's an absolute bugger of a job.  He then leaves me alone.  This can also be adopted for things like making a lavish cake when it's nobody's birthday.  Just have a stew on the go at the same time.

I have developed a terrible pain in my thumb.  I know what it's from; it's knitting strain.  I looked it up on line and read about carpel tunnel syndrome which apparently affects menopausal women who are overweight and like a drink and type.  Mmmm, doesn't sound a bit like me.  I'll give my knitting a miss for a bit.  The pattern I am working on is in a very hard aran and it's big and hefty with loads of stitches.  No wonder I have thumb strain.

Oh no, now I've done his trousers wrong.  Oh well, at least I haven't actually cut anything.  I have two pairs of my own trousers to put up but when I tried them on for length ... um er there seemed to be something wrong with the middle section ... it didn't meet.  Oh dietus maximus I hear you calling.  I hate diets.  I am always hungry and I do like cakes.  Do I have to go on a diet?  Oh no, I can just die.  Oh well, put like that I had better get out the scales and celery.

Dilemmas du jour:  What is Shabby Chic - Granny's curtains?
The only way isn't really Essex is it?  Unless you're visiting Suffolk.
What do you buy a bolshy spoilt brat for it's birthday?  The Best Boy will be 22 at the weekend.  

She sells sea shells - oh no she doesn't.

What's that for?
It's for my seaside house where we need some quilts.
But you're going to sell your seaside house.
That's what you think.

TV dinners

Dinner was fine; I distracted them with University Challenge and permitted food infront of the telly with ketchup to cover the burnt bits.  My friend Callista told me she is such a dreadful cook her children used to love school dinners.  She is the shape of a teensy skinny stick and I don't think she ever eats.

By the way dear Best Boy, singing Petula Clark's Downtown very loudly does mar the enjoyment of my costume drama, especially when everyone else joins in, even the dog.  Maggie Smith raised her eyebrows and lowered the edges of her mouth in an even more horrified manner than usual ... and now I've got it stuck on my brain.  Downtown where all the lights are bright Downtown, Downtown.  I had to get the butler to change the channel.

It's the Grannies' birthdays this week.  I made some pretty lavender bags for mother-in-law but by the time I'd bought her a card, packed the things and paid for the postage I may as well have bought her a really expensive gift!  Then there's my mother.  I sent her a book via Amazon which they gift wrapped - far more economical.

Food glorious food

What is the most revolting thing you have ever eaten?  Sweet pasta, salted porridge, a dog biscuit (a bit boring actually), liver, snails (they're ok if you wrap them up in enough french bread) or pigs' trotters.  They are at the top of my list but I have a nasty feeling tonight's dinner might be there too.  I can smell it burning but I just can't be bothered to deal with it.  I'm fairly sure there's little chance of salvation so I'll just prepare the scaffold shall I?

Stubborn trousers

I have a pair of jeans for sale on ebay.  They are very smart jeans purchased years ago in a thin moment but I was a bit overoptimistic.  I never actually managed to cram my fat backside into them and the legs were stupidly tight.  I was going to take them back to Selfridges but the girl was a bit snotty so I never summoned up the courage to go back for fear I might burst into tears with "My bum's too big and I can't fit it into your stupid trousers and it's all your fault for frightening me and making me buy them."  I just left them in my wardrobe to grow.  Three years later I have put them on ebay as never worn, brand spanking new jeans.  Nobody likes them.  I now feel sorry for them sitting there all unbid for with only a day to go.  Maybe I'll get Designer Susan to bid them up a bit for me - they're even less likely to fit her!

I went to a party with Mr Smith last night.  I had avoided the previous two on the grounds of ill health or some other such lame excuse.  I really had to go to this one for fear of people thinking it might be terminal.  It was dull except the brilliant Callista was there and she's great fun.  I did have a jolly time - I think.  I certainly had a hangover this morning but not too awful.  There was a horrid woman there who I hated with a vengeance when my children were babes and I remembered why.  She was bossy, snotty and horribly good at games, particularly tennis and was extraordinarily mean to me when I turned up to my first (and last) ladies tennis morning with my old school dunlop maxply racquet - they all had titanium ones ... several.  She looks a hundred years old but can't be a lot older than me - must be all that rushing about the tennis court.  I'd rather be fat jolly me with not an inkling of bat and ball sense whatsoever.  I flirted with her husband.

Ships that pass in the night

The view of the Isle of Wight was fabulously clear and at night it twinkled like a sparkly necklace with the passing ships hanging off it like gleaming jewels.

I did the pub quiz at which I was fabulously swotty, saw friends and made new friends and ate the remains of a Chinese takeaway I had in my freezer and was then sick all night long.  This morning I felt much better so I took a little sea air as one does, bought a loaf of bread that looks like a hedgehog and went to visit the Flower Boys who did me a good deal on their friday flowers - end of week special or something.  I love our seaside village as it's very 'butcher baker candlestick maker' and you can take your time pottering around each shop or you can always go to Tesco if you can't be arsed like Mr Smith.

I met my neighbour, Bossy Cow June, who was sporting a jersey of such hideousness I wanted to scream.  I then realised it was the exact pattern I had just knitted for a washcloth.  I had been wondering how it would translate into a garment - now I know.  Admittedly it was in tangerine acrylic and not cream soft cotton.  Each to their own.

I have an admirer!  He is a van driver for the local greengrocers.  Gosh, I don't half pull em.  I am thinking of having an I'm Not Interested T-shirt printed.  I'm not actually sure it would make much difference; I think there's something in the beer in West Sussex and it ain't bromide.

Here and now

I have to secretly admit it is rather nice having Mr Smith at home as he does goodly tasks.  At this very moment he is at the tip with our garden rubbish.  However, it is my duty as a wife of a newly, and I hope temporarily, unemployed/retired man to moan.  I don't like being nagged or monitored.  The thing is with him doing all the tasks I don't really need to .... so I don't.  He thinks I am really idle, which I am, and I think he's rather bossy.  I know doing a bit of knitting or reading my book are not on Mr Smith's list of approved passtimes but I am happy doing them.  Anyway, I am off now to do a massive amount of nothing in my other house and gaze at the sea for hours on end with nobody monitoring my state of inertia.

Mr Smith assures me he has some form of employment lined up and will be starting it as soon as he has sorted things out with the stupid tossers who sacked him and now wish they hadn't.  This reminds me of Bridgit, a friend from years ago, whose husband told her he worked for an oil company.  She believed him, as one would, but one day she phoned him at the office and they'd never heard of him.  She even used to drop him off there every day on her way to work.  I actually don't care if Mr Smith is just going to the library every day, at least he won't be here.

What shall we do with a drunken sailor?

It is a gloriously sunny day and the temptation to stay in bed reading my wonderful book "The Help" with the sun streaming through the window was very great.  However, the senior dalek is on the prowl so it was gardening for me.  Firstly I cleaned the deck of the shed which was very hard work; I scrubbed it imagining I was a deck hand on a ship whilst singing sea shanties.  I only know one so it got a trifle repetitive.  Then I had to spray the deck with water but Mr Smith pretended he couldn't hear me asking him to turn on the hose.  "It's not my gardening day."  Oh I see, well what is the occupation of the day then?   I then mopped the deck as it is very difficult to get the water out of those little grooves.  Oh how I dislike decking; some people cover their whole gardens in it.  Whilst it was drying I teak oiled all our garden furniture ready for winter then I planted 112 daffodils until I couldn't find any more spaces though I know when they appear there will be chasms of emptiness in the flower beds.  I suggested Mr Smith might admire my goodly tasks or at least give me words of encouragement. "Is that it?  Get a move on you lazy cow."

I am now sitting in the sun and am about to read some more of this wonderful book that I am so enjoying "The Help", do the crossword and a bit of quilting then have a little nap and see if it's Mr Smith's dog walking day.

Non exhaustive listing

Mrs Smith hates:

Being asked "What's for dinner" when just settling down to lovely episodes of Corrie or, worse, "What's for lunch?"  I don't know.  I am not making you all lunch every day just because you're unemployed.  Grab a sarni, and make me one too whilst you're there.

Diets.  But one is called for.  I have made a resolution to spend absolutely no money whatsoever on consulting anyone in any shape or form ever again in order to eat a bit less thus paying into the billion pound diet industry.  Less in, more out.  Weight watchers go fish.


Mrs Smith likes:-

The brilliant people who have grown an enormous leylandii in front of a speed camera on Kingston Hill blocking out its view of the road. Well done.

All the ebayists who have bought my things on ebay.  I love you all.

Mr Smith for turning on the heating.  About time too, except it's not particularly cold today and I feel a hot flush coming..... If only!

He's home again

The Lovely Claudia is coming round today which is always a joy; the dog gets particularly excited.  The only hazard to this happening is the lurking of Mr Smith.  Haven't you got a job to go to?  Oh woops, no sorry.  Haven't you got some wine to catalogue? oh no you sold it.  Oh well, could you just piss off then?  I want to show the Lovely Claudia all the things I have been making of late but I don't really want Mr Smith to know that I've started a few new projects before finishing any old ones.  "What do you want another patchwork quilt for?"  I want them to put over my knees because you are too mean to turn on the heating.  I will hand them to guests as they walk through the door so they can wear them and not die of hypothermia in our sitting room.

Mr Smith returned from foreign parts with gifts, as well he should.  He bought me a beautiful bottle of something orange.  It might be bubble bath or something you drink.  I don't care; it's so gorgeously naff I will just admire it.  I like that sort of gift - My hero.  He also bought me a mosquito bracelet in preparation for my forthcoming trip to the Caribbean. Actually, it's an anti-mosquito bracelet to be precise.  Just the one?  Am I to become a biological experiment of  "Oh look, it works, she's hardly bitten on the left arm at all, but as for the right - pass the pen for dot to dot."  I note he got it in my correct size - large.  I might have to rectify this prior to the trip but there again I don't want my rubber bug-bracelet to be too big.

I have done spiffingly well on ebay over the weekend.  You do need to be someone who enjoys wrapping parcels to play this game.  Oh I do.  Off go Internet Dating Jane's shoes, a bag I wish I hadn't sold and some other rubbish.  What next?  No, I'll never get him into a parcel however good I am at wrapping.

Clean or Pass

Mr Smith is still away playing golf in Majorca so the early morning dog walk was all mine.  The Common was covered in mist which made it look rather like the setting for Macbeth.  The dog and I walked through Burnham Woods to Dunsinane taking care to avoid any old hags en route.

I had a brilliant idea of how to get the housework done.  In true Julie Andrews style I invented a game called Do or Pass.  I wrote down all the ghastly tasks, put them in a bowl and asked the Apprentice to pick one out.  If he didn't like the task he was allowed to pass it back to me.  In the end he got cheesed off with this and just did all the tasks.  Cor, he's so brill.  We now have a beautifully hoovered house, a leafless garden, a clean staircase, a simmering curry and a sparkly kitchen - I did that bit.

In France Mr Smith became a squirrel and gathered a billion walnuts which he then brought back to England. This sparked off a walnut shelling contest last week.  We found a recipe for coffee and walnut cake which involved 3 oz of walnut bits and several half walnuts for the top.  It is mighty tricky getting your walnut out whole then carefully splitting it without breaking it.  After much walnutting I got it down to a fine art and, along with a mass of broken bits, managed 12 beautiful walnut halves.  The BB came along and ate them.  I have now made the walnut cake as a "Welcome Home, Tiger Woods" surprise but am still working hard at the whole ones.  I might just pop out and buy some.  He'll never know.

And what shall I cook tonight?  The dog and I will search out those hags this afternoon and get an Eye of Newt recipe.

Infra Dig

My day started very early with a tour of the North Circular all the way to Muswell Hill to drop the Best Boy off at his film shoot.  He was joined by other Best Boy clones all looking similarly yobby and as though early mornings don't really suit them. None of them get paid for these jobs but then the films aren't exactly box office raves.  I did despair of the Best Boy never having paid work and being a strain in our finances but then Clever Alison pointed out that, as he went straight from school to university, this could be deemed as his Gap year and he is spending it in an educational way rather than doing drugs in Thailand or getting RSI from Playstation.  True.

BB's girlfriend (yes, he has one and she is super nice) bought me loads of tulip bulbs from Amsterdam that I dug into shallow graves.  The ground is so hard due to the lack of rain but the glorious sunshine induces gardening.  Mr Smith was dead snotty the other day (now there's a change) and asked me if I ever do any gardening.  OK, not recently and, if the truth be told, the absolute mere minimum i.e. just enough to keep it out of the house.  The Apprentice and I went to B&Q and bought loads of daffs which I will plant tomorrow and dig up all the tulips.

The quilt is all done but for the quilting which is a bit difficult.  I'll work on it a bit more then show you.  It was very quick and I would happily do another one ... but not until I have finished the two I'm working on.  I'll start something else instead.

House work

I don't know why I am so fat.  It's not as though I ate a whole packet of chocolate biscuits; I left a few for Mr Smith then I remembered he is away so I had to have his for him.  It looks as though boring old conscientious efforts will have to be made.

Yesterday I walked the dog and made things all day long.  Both the dog and I look exhausted.  I started my "weekend" quilt in the morning and got on swimmingly.  After lunch I knitted two wash cloths with House on tv in the background.  I didn't pay that much attention but the patient got better.  Dishcloth cotton is just the softest cotton imaginable and it feels so lovely next to your skin.  After a long walk with the dog I had to have a long lounge in the bath to christen one of these cloths - the one that went a bit wrong when the patient went into anaphylactic shock.  I then made two doggie lavender bags, a covered button for another lavender bag, a little blanket-stitched heart and a delicious dinner.  Are there no end to my talents for wasting time and money?  Oh those creative juices; they must be fuelled by the chocolate biscuits.

I still have my irritating cough sitting in a slightly tickly manner on my chest.  Maybe it's lung cancer.  I'll call House.

Stage 1 - Laying out the pieces

Early birds get worms

My family all got up at the lark's fart this morning to whizz off to different parts of the globe leaving the dog and me in perfect peace.  The Best Boy (the son formerly known as the Student) has gone off to make a film in Whitechapel and is due on set at no later than 6am. This is a posh film with real actors as seen on tv and not just in Casualty. The Apprentice has gone to his apprentice electrician's job in Uxbridge and Mr Smith and his golf clubs have gone to the airport to catch an early plane to Majorca.

I will miss Mr Smith as he has been rather handy about the home of late.  Although it's not my idea of heaven to be monitored during the day, it is nice having someone to chat to other than the dog.  However, I am going to delight in messing up the house to my heart's content whilst he is away. I will lounge in bed and watch catch-up Corrie and knit things and leave them strewn about and start a whole new project despite still having loads of unfinished ones.

I recently bought a "Make it in a Weekend" quilt kit.  Mmmmm.  How much of it exactly can you make in a weekend?  Should it be a Bank Holiday and do you have any meals?  I will make a start today and we'll see what we have by Sunday.

And another one

My computer takes so long to do anything these days I need a bit of knitting to tide me over that bit between requesting internet connection and anything actually happening.  Just as well I found some then.  In my knitting drawer, as opposed to my embroidery drawer, my patchwork houses drawer, my Canadian Quilt drawer, my canvas work drawer, my little bits of leftover things drawer etc., I found an almost completed little knitted cloth.  Why ever did I give up so near the end?  I couldn't find the pattern.  I looked it up on line and found several other fun cloths to knit too that I couldn't possibly ignore.  I can knit them to the half way point and discard them too.  So now I have finished a dinky little facecloth which I will pack up in cellophane with a little soap angel.  Mr Smith will be delighted with such a lovely gift along with two lavender bags.
Actually, his mother has a birthday next week so I'll send it to her.

Another one bites the dust

Another task completed.  At long last.  There is a bit of sail at the top that's missing and the cushion is a bit too big but apart from that it's done.  "Hooray" cry the little Saxons in their boat, "Hooray" cry their horses,      
"It's a bit fat" cries Mr Smith.  Oh pass me the arrows.

My day is harassed already and it is but the beginning.  I decided I just had so many things to do I should get the pottering Smith to perform the odd task.  No, not nag, just delegate.  I need him to moan about a planning application, chase a plumber, change the duvet cover and go to the post office.  I went to make a cuppa with the intention of getting back into bed with the newspaper for a bit of a sip and a read but he had busily started on task one with the duvet suitably bare and hanging out of the window for an airing.  Oh.  I thought he would do things whilst I was out and about, not that second.  So now I am shivering on the bed covered with a flimsy blanket and the window wide open.

I've got E-bay into a dreadful muddle.  I keep getting "Can I buy it now?" requests.  No.  I don't know how to do that.  I suppose I'd better look into it.  But how do I know what to charge?  Oh dear, it's all much too complicated.

Leisure Trousers

Mr Smith potters.  He decided to sell some wine - jealous of me doing so well on ebay and he does so like to make things competitive which I find takes the enjoyment out of it all immediately.  He listed the wine with the very poshest of wine merchants and was all set for his great sale.  He went to get the wine out of his cellar to find that over the past two decades the boxes had disintegrated and all the labels had been eaten by beetles.  I will design him some replica ones.  Van Rooge - Vintage.  That should do it.  Labels are quite my thing of late; I made some great labels for my lavender bags  "A smelly gift from Mrs Smith" and some for my ebay sales "Thank you for your purchase" but I always do up the parcels and forget to put them in.

Mr Smith has much leisure time so is looking at the Sunday supplements and I found him lingering over an ad for leisure trousers; hideous with draw string and fleece lining but cheap.  Could be de rigeur.  I have thrown away the mag quickly before he can order any.

Yesterday Mr Smith found three lost things - maybe we'll change his name to Mr Jude. (Oh no, that's lost causes, I think St Anthony is patron saint of lost things.)  He found the handbag I thought I'd Freecycled in a stupid moment but actually hadn't, my Sony Reader which was in the bag and a very useful small hairbrush.  Have you lost anything recently?  I'll send him round.

Goodly Tasks

Yesterday I decided to finish some projects before starting any new ones.  Why?  Well, Mr Smith snoops a bit these days.  Well, he doesn't actually go through drawers but with not being employed and hanging around the house he is more observant of my daily activity.  Anyway, I dug out a big pale pink chunky soft cardigan that I knitted about two years ago but never finished.  I actually sewed it up.  I then put it on and looked big and pink and chunky.  Why didn't I look like the 16 year old blonde swedish model in the snow on the pattern?  It is hideous.  "You could put it in the dog basket" suggested Mr Smith but the dog looked suitably horrified so I didn't.  I have hung it up and tried to make it look designery.  Nope, it just ain't working.  OK then I'll threaten to wear it unless Mr Smith lets us turn on the heating.

I have spent this morning turning out my wardrobe, packing away all the summer clothes and replacing them with ill fitting winter ones.  I had three bags marked Faith, Hope and Charity.  Faith are things that I have totally lost faith in as they are just too old and awful and need to be chucked.  Hope is diet related - one day they'll fit.  Charity - well you can work that out for yourself but I would prefer a more deserving charity than the oversubscribed Oxfams and Cancers in our high street.  I then have another bag called Greed - this is for all things Ebayable.  I am doing well.  My account now stands at £109.89.  "Oh good" says Mr Smith, you can pay the heating bill.

Staying in

I had to sneak my recent purchases of new crafty things, gleaned from Alexandra Palace yesterday, into the house without Mr Smith noticing and passing his usual comments of "But you already have 80 unfinished projects.  Why on earth are you buying more?"  Carina told me a great story of how she parked a bit of surreptious shopping in the rubbish bin with the intention of bringing it into the house when her husband was out or not looking.  Somehow the moment never arose and the bin men came.  There went her new shoes!

I am a bad wife.  I refused to go to the golf dinner dance with Mr Smith.  Well, wouldn't you?  Callista was apparently so jealous of me at home with jelly babies for dinner in front of Corrie with a new episode of Outnumbered for pudding.  The only unfortunate thing was Mr Smith got a bit pissed and told them all that I wasn't really ill but skiving because I hate them all especially the golf captain.  True!  but I love Callista even if she is thinner than a brittle stick.  Actually, that wasn't such a bad move on his part as it now lets me off the hideous ordeal of Mr & Mrs W Brown-Nose's housewarming party of their ridiculously expensive but very boring house in Wimbledon tonight.  I can stay in and watch X Factor and start my new knitting. Perhaps Callista could pop round to join me - she'd only eat one jelly baby and I'd let her have any colour she likes, except red or black of course.

Ooop North ... London

Mrs Smith Mother of Mr Smith and I went all the way to Hampstead to deliver the quilt to find the shop was closed.  Oh!  Well, we pottered around Hampstead and found some lovely shops where we wanted everything but could afford nothing.

At the Royal Academy, earlier, I bought a lovely bright and bouncy scarf.  It was the first cold day since I can remember but I didn't dress adequately so I really needed the boingy scarf to keep me warm.  The Degas exhibition was dancy and not too soppy and we enjoyed it.  There were a few bits of film to enhance the theme of ballet one of which showed a naked man doing his dance movements.  It was subtly darkened in the vicinity of his vital bits though I did find my mother-in-law leering at it until I explained that bit was the shadow of the man's hand infront of his body.  She looked relieved and we moved on.

Today I went to The Knitting and Stitching Show at Alexandra Palace.  It was far far away but worth the journey for the magnificent view across London if nothing else.  I attended a workshop on knitting on broom handles that made me realise I never want to do that which was a good thing as I had always thought I might.  I actually had a lovely day out and wish I had stayed longer and seen more of the good stuff and less of the hideous cross stitch patterns and ugly knitting. I made a few purchases, as one does.  Mr Smith is going away to play golf soon so I will need a new project to never finish and I now have several.

Bidding for bedding

I have been banished from the marital bed - something about this infernal coughing annoying Mr Smith.  It's lovely; a bit like being on a little holiday.  I am under the beautiful new duvet cover I bought in France and it really is exquisite - all expensive and elegant - not like our boring old John Lewis standard issue linen next door.

I got Designer Susan to bid up the quilt on ebay in the last hour.  It ended at £49 with the gentleman at the back from Hampstead.  Well, he wasn't at the back but you know what I mean.  Actually, he was on automatic bidding which means he had pre-set an amount to which he was willing to go but we didn't know what it was.  I thought it was probably £50 but Susan reckoned it was more likely to be £100.  We will never know as we chickened out.  I thought I might deliver the quilt to him today as he has what looks like a very beautiful Antique Quilt shop that is screaming for a visit from me.  I'll take my mother-in-law with me; she needs an adventure.

I am meeting Mrs Smith Mother of Mr Smith at the Royal Academy to go to a boring Degas exhibition that will be completely packed with the tweedy from the country all barging to get a better view of tedious ballet dancers.  This is the first time I have been out for ages but I think I am just about well enough.  Mother Rita is a woman of panic.  She firstly got into a great big panic because she lost her tickets so she went all the way to the Royal Academy to get them reissued yesterday then she had another panic about me bringing the quilt with me as it will be too big to leave at the cloakroom as they don't take large parcels and will it be too big for me to carry round with me?  No it won't as it's a neat little package; but I didn't tell her that.  If it isn't the size of my extra enormous, terribly heavy double quilt that's going to keep her awake, it will be something else like whether her bus will break down on the way and make her late so we won't be able to go into the exhibition because it's timed tickets you know.  Yes I do know because she managed to get the busy time when all the coachloads arrive.

Today is Show Down Day when Mr Smith rides into town with both guns at the ready.  He is meeting with his  ex-partners to sort out a favourable settlement from his sacking to include plenty of money and a retained interest and all his clients and a consultancy fee and a bit extra and some more.  Then he can shoot them all.  Actually, Mr Smith is a bit weedy so I hope he does stand up to them and get his full whack.  I'll tell his mother - that'll make her calm!  I have got her over the "Whatever are you going to do?" phase by explaining that I am not a woman entirely without means and her son has earned about enough to pay the milk bill for the past two years.  Anyway, we are off to flog a quilt so we can afford to turn on the heating when she comes for Christmas.

Doctor Smarty

I took my vile germ to the new doctors' surgery where I saw a very young, alarmingly good looking doctor who gave me a cursory glance and a prescription.  Weehee, I now have antibiotics and feel triumphant though I did think he could have been a little more thorough.  I think he was probably once nice but had watched a little too much Doc Martin and was practising "off hand".  As he had kept me waiting a very impolite 45 minutes, I thought it should have all begun with an apology and a thank you for waiting.  Oh well, such is life and I will now be able to enjoy mine.  The new surgery is very new and very big, amalgamating almost all Putney doctors, but just as hopelessly inefficient as ever with the same dreadful copies of the Lady from 1997 and a vile old bat of a receptionist.

It's the last day of my antique quilt on ebay and I just can't wait to be shot of the thing. I don't think its going to go up any more as there are only two people interested.  There are 10 hrs left and it is currently £33.97p.  I am thinking about bidding myself to push the price up a bit but then I might end up with the damned thing forever; like this cough.

Yesterday, in a bid to finish the crossword and not appear thick, I made up loads of words.  They all look plausible words but don't actually exist. (Thearchy, grache, casulin and schull). Well, to save face I shall have to make them exist and am going to slot them all into everyday conversation until everyone starts using them then they'll be real words like innit.  Oh apparently thearchy is a word and it's right - how amazing.  I'm not as stupid as I thought even if I would have difficulty dropping thearchy into casual conversation with Mr Smith over my inability to wash up as I'm too superior in a godlike way (and still unwell).

Make me an offer

OK, germ, you are seriously getting me down now.  I have now had to cancel the second patchwork class running.  So far I have missed three out of four; first because I was in France.  There is only one thing for it, I will have to take myself on a completely useless mission to the doctor who will tell me there is nothing they can give me and I will have to soldier on.  Haven't they ever heard of antibiotics?  I have.  My mother told me how to get a doctor to prescribe these magic pills.  Firstly, exaggerate the length of the illness and the symptoms then give a revolting description of something green you are coughing up.  That should apparently do the trick.  Well, I am quite willing to give it a go as I am absolutely at the end of my tether and Mr Smith's tether too.  I am tired and ill and this is no fun at all.  I might tell the doctor how I have been off work now for ages .... then I'll have to invent some job I don't do.  I bet the doctors take antibiotics like smarties.  Mmmm I could really fancy a smarty or two now and maybe some jelly babies - it's this voracious appetite I have developed with this cough.

My ebay sales are terrific.  So far I have made £56.70 with another £40 in the pipeline.  Oooh just a few more and I will have made a cool £100 from my sick bed.  How clever is that?  I am having a bit of a problem with a large ugly patchwork quilt that refuses to fit into any box despite Designer Susan giving me perfect boxes that are so nearly just the thing.  I keep receiving hideous questions from prospective buyers as to its pedigree and condition and whether it would like to go to Ireland.  I don't know ... just buy the damned thing and make me rich.  I'll do a deal for antibiotics.

Mop my fevered brow and the kitchen floor

Ebay truly is not for those of nervous disposition.  It gets you on the edge of your seat as you watch the last minute nail biting moments of the bidding wars.  I am getting greedy now.

I am still in bed with this ghastly chest infection.  Luckily I have Mr Smith at home to run down to the post office to post off all my ebay sales for me.  Actually, he might not do that but he might be kind enough to help me stagger and splutter that far.  I wonder if in the meantime he'd like to make me some porridge?  It's odd this germ as it has given me a voracious appetite but I can only manage soft food as my throat is very sore.  I'd really like Haagen Daz icecream on my porridge but I have a feeling that won't happen.  Oh, he has just appeared with a sensible yoghurt.  This is cool and gentle on my raging throat - nice Mr Smith.  I hope he stays unemployed forever.  Well, I don't really of course, but it's so wonderful to have a slave.

Cough for sale on Ebay

Today I have emphysema.  I have just looked up the symptoms on the National Health Helpline and I seem to have them all.  Oh, it says you would suffer from a persistent cough and tiredness for several months. So two days is perhaps a little premature.  It's almost time for my next Benilyn fix.

Before it got too hot I watered my garden this morning.  It was so happy and produced loads of strawberries in appreciation and some roses and a clematis have reflowered.  Oh this glorious weather.  It must confuse things a bit when they were all getting ready for winter then suddenly found it was July again.

I am watching my Ebay sales with extreme excitement.  A grotty little bag has just gone for £34.  I don't know what it was new but I think less than that.  Two more to go. OOOh, by the end of the day I will no longer be poor.  I will then forage around the house for more things to Ebay.  My new job: Ebay sellist.

Convalesence by the sea

Maybe the seaside flat is a bit of a non-essential expense but it's essential for me to run away from my family occasionally and it is lovely there.  I wallowed, I basked and I lazed in glorious sunshine until the Witterings filled with zillions of people who had all come to do the same whereupon I departed.

I went to see Designer Susan who gave me £50 note tissues.  This made me much happier about the remnants of my cold.  I do still have a hacking cough.

I then went to see Arty Antonia for tea in Bognor and spread my germs around West Sussex.  Her teapot collection is so brill.  She is so brill.  I felt well restored and took my irritating cough back to London to the bosom of my family.

I could perhaps live without the seaside for a bit, but only for a bit.  Oh something will come up;  I can feel it between my aching ribs.