Improvements

'And what is this?' says Mrs Pumphrey, who has dropped in to raid my wool basket for a spot of angora/ acrylic mix.

'It's my new range cooker,' says I.

'It looks like the control desk of the Starship Enterprise,' says Mrs Pumphrey.

'It is,' I say. 'Only with flame throwers.'

'And how easy is it to handle?' says Mrs P.

'Oh, no-one's allowed to USE it,' I say. 'That would be crazy.'

'So it's just going to sit there?' says Mrs Pumphrey.

'Indeed,' I say. 'Sit there and be admired.'

Okay, I know it will have to be used, I suppose, what with Christmas looming and people wanting to eat bits of dead animal and cake, but I am out there in the kitchen every evening a-buffing and a-polishing to keep my magnificent piece of cooking kit as pristine as possible for as long as possible. I may even develop some OCD tendencies. Who knows?

And the bathroom is almost done. Dave the Plumber reckons one more day and it will be back to shower heaven. I don't mind baths, but they are a lot of faff and they turn your bottom pink if you wallow for too long.

'I know what you mean,' says Mrs Pumphrey. 'I had a pink bottom for AGES!'

'That wasn't because you sat in a bath too long,' I say. 'That's because Mrs Slocombe is a bad feather plucker.'

'But not any more,' says Mrs Pumphrey who has been sporting full bottom feather coverage for several weeks now, ever since her annual moult.'

'No,' I say. 'It's surprising what a well-aimed peck in the head will discourage, isn't it?'

'I'll say,' says Mrs P.

Andy, meanwhile, has been out pruning the willow. This is not a euphemism. He has been up a ladder with the secateurs, and he collected enough willow whips this morning to weave an enormous willow wreath for the front door. It is truly enormous. Of car-tyre proportions. He also wove a smaller wreath of steering wheel proportions and then he wove a Christmas tree shape of three feet high triangular proportions. I have earmarked the willow Christmas tree for the spot just outside the front door, and I intend to drape it with solar powered Christmas lights. Andy is dubious of its ability to support lights. I am willing to give it a shot.

Kayleigh has started going swimming on a Sunday morning with my Mum. She is, by all accounts, becoming a proper water baby. She is also starting to say more words and today I am SURE she said, 'Daddy at work.'

The Much Malarkey Manual 2012 has arrived, hot off the printing press. For rush job, it looks pretty darn fabulous!

The knitted nativity is looking woeful like a pile of unknitted wool. For this, I blame school.

And talking of school, my tax code has FINALLY been sorted. So the Bursar assures me. I remain to be convinced until I see my next salary slip. And there had better be a hefty size tax rebate on it.

I think Chelsee or Harry should win Strictly Come Dancing.

Andy has found a CD of Salvation Army band playing Christmas carols. I am thrilled by this because it means we can sing-along without interruption from professional singing artistes getting in the way. I love the sound of a good brass band.

My friend, Sarah, and I went to see Adam Ant in concert on Friday night. My hearing has just about recovered. Sarah is still in possession of her pants.

My friend, Sarah, and I met our friend Alison for a girlie pub lunch on Saturday. It was great! Best triple fried fat chips on the planet. We agreed we should meet up more often, especially since we are enjoying comparing notes on the ageing process so much. Alison declined to join us for the Adam Ant extravaganza. But then she is two weeks older than me and two months older than Sarah. She is clearly the grown up of our outfit.

And that's all I have to say.