Maybe I seem a bit confused, well maybe, but I got you pegged

Last night’s dinner was a complete success. Homemade leek and potato soup, pork chops in a prune and white wine sauce, and an apple tart. One thing led to another, and another thing led to dominoes (at which I was a total failure) and dominoes led to Dunfermline whist for goodness sakes. I’m clueless when it comes to card games, but C&G were very patient with me and taught me the rules, and so I went on to win the game. Beginner’s luck no doubt.

I thought by now my aches and pains would be subsiding, but they seem to be getting worse. At this rate I’ll be in a wheelchair by the end of the week. It certainly doesn’t make for a comfortable night’s sleep. In the meantime, I’ll just whinge, moan, whine, grumble, complain, bleat, whimper, bellyache, gripe and generally feel sorry for myself if that’s OK with you.

We spent the morning anticipating the arrival of the previous owner of the house (Madam Fafafafafa) who was going to demonstrate how to switch off the immersion heater in French, but she’s got a dodgy elbow and has pulled out at the last minute. Jean-Claude is in the lounge removing the mirrored doors from the built-in cupboard. It’s all happening here.

I spent much of the afternoon between the editors desk, and Iris Murdoch, venturing out for a stroll only to be chased back indoors again by the icy wind and snowflakes. C&G were out for the evening, so I settled down with last night’s leftovers, the second half of The Talented Mr Ripley – and my very last episode of Frasier, so he has definitely left the building.