Sammie's Farm

H set off for London City Airport at 7.30am to catch a flight to Amsterdam, and Sammie and I set off for the farm at the same time. Turned out nice again, and Sammie put me through my paces, jumping over fences and swimming through brackish ditches.

At home I sorted out the crazy world of my bank account and shifted some debts around to keep everybody on their toes. Checked under the mattress, but nothing there. Not even two bed bugs to rub together. Anybody want to invest in a struggling writer?

I had a list of chores to complete and I set about them diligently, including taking down precarious light fittings to change bulbs, and tidying up the garden which involved pruning a vicious rose bush with huge woody thorns which got me in the end - no, not that end thank you. Leave the jokes to me. I think some kids had played trick or treat with my terracotta pots, for they were in many many pieces. Little bastards.

Sammie and I went for our evening stroll along Old Father Thames and some kids (there’s a lot of them about – must be something in the water) set off some very loud fireworks near us which turned Sammie into whirling dervish, pulling me this way and that along the footpath, like we were in some Benny Hill sketch. A quiet evening in with a few cans of your finest, due to an earlier cancellation. Tomorrow I must make soup to last H through to the New Year – but I can’t find any blinking leeks – not even for ready money. Probably because they're in season - plenty of stuff from Egypt and Kenya mind you.