Wednesday, March 26, 2008


A little quiet lately as I had to recover from 'skiing' in Courmayeur. I don't know the technical term is for my antics on the top of a mountain, but hysteria and sliding down on my arse is probably the kindest. Back in Blighty, we had Easter in the country, which felt just like Christmas as it snowed (I staved off the phobics by staying inside). The olive oil is still cloudy but at least four days of the heating being on meant that by the end of Bank Holiday Monday I could feel my toes and fingers again.

Mud & The City is beginning to feel like a book now. I've been checking over the editor's marks and even caught myself laughing at one of my own jokes - which must be a good sign. And I found my mother's engagement ring, which I thought I'd lost (it was in an egg cup) - perhaps another positive omen. Now it's my last week at Country Life before I fling myself into the abyss of freelancing. Very exciting. If anyone's watching........keep your eye on this space.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Cough, cough

I've been a bit distracted from my laptop by the incessant coughing, sneezing and general wailing emitting from my own self for the past fortnight. As I don't really believe in illness, I've been casting around for the suspect that inflicted this misery upon me. Was it that dodgy sniffer on the tube? The red-faced baby who came to brunch? Sick-building syndrome? In the end, I think it's just pure cold. Cold in our house that is. Apparently, we live in the coldest house in the country. The frost in the garden in the morning is beautiful, but less enticing when it is still there at lunchtime – especially when it has melted in every other garden around us. If I left the butter in the fridge it would be easier to spread on my toast. I know that our kitchen never even approaches the accepted 'room temperature' because the olive oil is permanently cloudy (read the label at the back). We light the fire, which is bliss, but requires a Hansel & Gretel forest to keep it burning. Plus you can only warm up (even scorch) one side of you at a time. Hot water bottles just mean that you either have a lump of scalding plastic on your legs or on your stomach, while the rest of you tries to thaw out. I'm going skiing next week. I think this is my version of a holiday in the sun.