Mrs Moore

For the time being, Mrs Moore has more pressing commitments.  See you all in due course.  Sx

Quarante-deux Bouteilles De Vin

Tuesday, 28th October

We didn't even get placed.  Bleeding heck!  Even Dan, Fran and Jumper Steve got more points than we did.  Big day tomorrow, meeting the literary agent.

Wednesday, 29th October

I arrived in Rowan's office 20 minutes late, not a great start.  I left Battersea at ten, but due to road works, one-way systems, and faulty Centrepoint lifts, it took eighty minutes to get there.  I sincerely hoped she wouldn't think I was taking the piss.  We seemed to hit it off immediately, and chatted for about an hour and a half.  She really liked the style of writing, and we had a long talk about how to put together a proposal that may wow the socks off any potential printing houses.

Nicola rang about five to confirm that my impressions of the meeting were about right.  Rowan had rung her, and now I have to crack on with a proposal.

I am feeling a bit overwhelmed.

Thursday, 30th October

I am still feeling more than a bit overwhelmed.  I haven't been able to concentrate, which means that nothing is getting done.  Oh dear!  And we are off to France for two nights tomorrow, for which I am totally unprepared.

Friday, 31st October

We arrived at the hotel at about half past eleven, but it is absolutely beautiful.  La Maison Des Plumes is an Art Deco delight, an old manor house with a magnificent spiral staircase at its heart.

Saturday, 1st November

A fantastic breakfast of coppa, chevre, and the biggest croissants we have ever seen.  We then hit the supermarket to buy coppa, chevre, and gigantic croissants.  Well, apart from the croissants.  We bought all the wine for Christmas, and a bit to spare.  We also bought two bottles of champagne, and two of cremant, for Damian and Kelly to have a bit of a blind taste test.  300 euros on that, and a further 125 euros I had great fun taking photos in the house, and also at the supermarket, and got together most of the photos for week 6 of the course.  Back to the Maison for a great supper, and a brief ghost-hunting episode, which turned up nothing.

Sunday, 2nd November

Back home.  Kids back, 'Ooh Frisk Sours, ooh M&M table football, ooh wine.'  Perry can be a strange kid.  Xanthe coolly informed me that she had created a mountain for her geography project.  Eh?  I haven't seen it, but it does fit in the back of the car.  Crushing 9-1 defeat for 'The Park.'  At last it's the end of the season.  A week's break next Sunday.  Thank god.

Home, Sweet Home

Friday, 24th October

The eurotrash descended tonight.  Eve, two Italian boys and a Rumanian girl joined us on our evening out to Le Madugou.   They turned up brandishing champagne, and balsamic sauces (not to be consumed together).  We polished off the champagne and a bottle of wine before going to supper, which doesn't augur well for an early start tomorrow.  However, we had a thoroughly good meal, and a laugh, and Troy arranged a little cake, to get my birthday celebrations off to an excellent start.

Saturday, 25th October

Up at five (four UK time) to clean the house before leaving.  Ugh, will definitely throw 70 Euros at the problem next time, but it didn't seem worth it just for a couple of days.  We had an uneventful, and frankly efficient journey back, landing at ten.  Troy gave me a lovely white crystal and silver pair of earrings and bracelet.  Now I have to rethink my outfit for the evening.  I spent the afternoon working, then got ready for dinner.  We had an amazing meal in the private room at Greenhouse, with apple bombs, beetroot cigars, oatmeal foam, turbot, avocado ice cream, quails egg with anchovy and caper, pigeon breast, and a million other lovely bits and pieces.  It was so good I even ate dessert.  Then they brought cake.  How they expected me to stuff that down too, I have no idea.  So we took it home in a box!

Everyone decamped to Manny's, and we had a great evening.

Sunday, 26th October

I am paying the price for a great evening.  I spent the afternoon in front of the workstation with my head thumping.  I couldn't face standing on the soggy touchline, and we were back to Manny's for more birthday celebrations. I have been given scented candles by four people, which is great because you can't have too many scented candles. Seriously.  And, bizarrely, nearly all my cards were pink.

Monday, 27th October

Mercifully I am not paying any prices this morning.  More staring at the workstation.  There are literally thousands of X-rays, dating back to January 2007, that need doing.  That should keep me out of mischief.  We are going back into The Woodman tonight, after nearly three years, to do the quiz.  Should be interesting.

If It's Tuesday, This Must Be Naples

Saturday, 18th October

How marvelous, a holiday that doesn’t start with an alarm going off at stupid o’clock.  We got off to a flying start on the grand tour, largely by flying to Palermo.  We dropped the car off at the valet parking (love it), and went to the Speedy Boarding Plus check-in.  One day, everyone will cotton on to Speedy Boarding, and then we will all be back to square one.  Lots of screaming infants on the plane, mercifully none near us.  There was a nasty drop due to an air pocket, just as we were coming in to land.  Apart from the blood-curdling scream that this produced, Xanthe was remarkably quiet for all of the flight. 


Our hotel in Palermo was a little bit weird, not least of which being that it wasn't actually IN Palermo, and the fact that it was more than slightly orange.  Serves us right for booking through Easyjet.

We found a little restaurant near the hotel, which was very much in the ‘you’ll eat what you’re given’ mode.  We had ‘Frutta di mare mista,’ and an excellent ‘pesce grigliata, con salata.’  Perry surprised me by eating a substantial amount of the salad.  And it was mostly green.  There was a little debate over what sort of ‘pesce’ it was.  I thought it might be bream, and the waiter told us it was a ‘sarago.’  We dined ‘al fresco,’ overlooking the little bay, and it was charming.  Online, back at the hotel, I googled it.  Bream, bingo!

Sunday, 19^th October

A reasonably early start, leaving the Palm Beach Hotel (it was a hotel, but a bit short on the palm, or beach, front) at nine.  Breakfast was dominated by French Saga louts, all wearing shorts – revealing distinctly dodgy, wrinkly knees.  It was hard to work out who were the chavs, and who the chav-nots.  We had a moderately hair-raising journey to Palermo Stazione Centrale.  The train took two hours and twenty minutes to reach Milazzo, and we were taken to the hydrofoil by an ageing hippy.  He looked like an Italian ‘carne-pane’ (Meatloaf?), and his ‘antichita’ Fiat stalled repeatedly on the way to the port.  We are struggling with the local dialect.  And the locals are struggling with our Battersea-isms.  My Italian is a grubby mix of French, Latin and Spanish, but we are coping.  We took the hydrofoil to Lipari, just making the onward connection to Salina by ‘la pelle della nos denti.’

The hotel is a rustic triumph, perched on the mountainside, with a not quite infinity pool, (a palm tree pops up to destroy the effect) and a spa.  Xanthe has declared it the best hotel she has ever stayed in, as usual.  We sat on the main roof terrace, and drank cocktails before supper.  Unfortunately, the mosquitoes here are vicious.  Some of the worst I’ve encountered.  Ever.

Monday, 20^th October

Troy and I were up remarkably early today.  Considering.  Considering we didn’t have to be.  Actually it was quite nice for a change.  The morning was spent chilling by the pool, and trying to take a decent photo of the giant blue bees which are everywhere.  We all hit the spa this afternoon.  It is a proper ‘terme,’ with a variety of different mineral baths. We steamed (in a traditional tholos), Jacuzzi-ed, kniped and hydrotherapied with the best of them.  Supper out of the hotel tonight, although it took a little while to find the restaurant.  Off to Napoli ‘domani.’

Tuesday, 21^st October

Up before any larks were, at six.  We had an anxious moment when the taxi hadn’t turned up by ten to seven.  We are so used to our cars turning up at least quarter of an hour early, that it’s unnerving to deal with the southern Mediterranean taxi ethos.  We got to the port at San Marina in ample time, only for the ferry to be nearly ten minutes late.  The first stop was Lipari, where a gaggle of ‘ragazzi’ got off to go to school, accompanied by some exasperated looking adults, who must have been their teachers.  I thought it might be easier just to have a floating school that circumnavigates the islands.  Although that might make sport a little tricky.  They could always go swimming.

Next stop Vulcano, and at this point it was looking increasingly unlikely that we would make the 9.52 train to Napoli.  We should have arrived at Milazzo at 8.50, but didn’t in fact land until 9.20.  I got myself to the front of the disembarkation queue, (this week is turning me into a bit of a militant traveler), and legged it for a taxi.  ‘Milazzo Stazione!’  I barked at the taxi driver, and he sensed my level of urgency.  It took just over five minutes to the station, and I ran to the ticket office.  Three minutes later I was in possession of a first class family ticket to Napoli Centrale, and we trundled the cases as fast as we could, to Platform 4, to meet the express service from Palermo Centrale to Roma Termini.  Only to find that it was running thirty minutes late.  You can see a theme emerging here.  All that rushing about for nothing.  Pesky Russians.

At Messina Maritime, the train did a remarkable thing.  It got on a ferry.  In fact it split in two, and got on the ferry.  We got off and went deckside for some fresh air.  After the short crossing from Sicily to mainland Reggio Calabria, the train settled it’s issues, got back together again, and continued along the coast to Naples.  I dozed happily, listening to my meditation playlist of various Paul McKenna tracks, and was rudely awoken by Aerosmith, insisting that I ‘Walk This Way.’  How did that get on the playlist?  By the time I got to Napoli Centrale, I was neither thinner, nor richer.

Naples seems to be the underbelly of Southern Italy, every street is hung with washing, and there is constant tooting and beeping from the near stationary traffic.  It seems incredibly poor, with none of the shops that one would associate with a major Italian city.  Although proud of its Greek heritage, Neopolis looks like the backdrop to one of Fellini’s darkest films.  We checked into the Villa Ranieri.  This used to be an aristocrat’s home, but the wallpaper was peeling off the walls because of the damp.  It was trying to punch higher than it’s weight, claiming a four star status, but generally falling apart at the edges.  In fact, if Claudio Ranieri did run a hotel, that’s exactly what it would be like.

The concierge recommended a restaurant to us, and we walked about fifteen minutes (downhill) to it.  It had closed down.  However, we did find a little pizza bar nearby.  We had a good meal, which came to around fifty euros, including the tip, for four massive pizzas (we really didn’t need one each), two desserts, three beers, three soft drinks, and a bottle of wine.  Staying in an underbelly can have its advantages.

Wednesday, 22^nd October

A civilized start time for our trip to Milano.  The hotel boasted of ‘the best breakfast in Naples.’  So, good job we didn’t stay anywhere else then.  It was the usual plastic cheese and cheap cold meats, enlivened by the offering of coca-cola and profiteroles.  What?  For Breakfast?  Bring it on.  The coffee was first class though, as were the toiletries (not at breakfast, in the room - doh!).  Small mercies.

We hopped in a cab to the airport.  The flight at the gate before ours was going to Lourdes, so there were lots of folk in wheelchairs.  Their faith didn’t manage to get the flight off on time, so I don’t hold out much hope for a pile of abandoned wheelchairs at Lourdes airport for the return leg.

Milan was overcast and drizzly, and there’s only one thing to do in Milan anyway.  So we hit the shops.  I spent a ludicrous amount of money on a new collar for Oly.  We went to a potty restaurant in the evening, the décor, service, and music were all great, but sadly the food left a lot to be desired.  And cost three hundred euros.  Come back, Napoli, all is forgiven.

Thursday, 23^rd October

We walked to Milano Centrale – which is not unlike Grand Central, NY.  On the way, Xanthe and I made a detour, to one of the many bead and jewel shops we had spotted the night before.  There were loads of gorgeous chunky faceted beads and drops, with chunky silver clasps.  We chose heavy faceted garnets, smooth turquoise pebbles, and crisply clear amethysts.  Just as in the eastern parts of Europe, these gems are sold by weight, the boy serving us winced when he saw the price.  His boss said that he would do us a wholesale price, so we chose a further large multicoloured quartz, a massive flat turquoise, and a pendant with three rough rubies and a freshwater pearl.  The total bill came to less than eighty euros for cash.

Having established that there was no ‘carozza mangiare,’ (what is it with Italians that they can get on a five hour train, with only a mouthful-sized espresso for sustenance?), we armed ourselves with ‘panini e bebite.’  Surely this was the point at which nothing could actually get cocked up on our precarious travel arrangements.  Or so you might think.  No more than ten minutes into the journey to Nice, we were informed that because of a strike by the SNCF staff, the train would be terminating in Ventimiglia.  Ah.  And there were no guarantees of onward travel.  I ran through the possibilities, trying to (a) not panic, and (b) not have a paddy.  We could try to get a coach from Ventimiglia to Nice – did such a beast exist?  We could hop in a taxi to Nizza Centrale – how much would that cost?  We could try to change our hire car booking to collect in Ventimiglia – was there a Europcar office?  Although my French could cope with these complex issues, I was sure ‘mi Italiano’ would not.  I elected to throw our travel arrangements into the hands of The Fates, and trust that karma, entropy, and the universe, would provide the answer.

A couple of hours later, karma, entropy, and the universe, hadn’t emailed, faxed or phoned.   We munched ‘nostre Panini in cilencia.’  I continued to churn over the possibilities, and came up with – nada.  Yes, I do know that’s Spanish.  About twenty minutes before our scheduled journey execution in Ventimiglia, it seemed our sentence had been commuted.  There was a regional French train scheduled from Ventemille to Nice, which would get us in only forty-five minutes late.  Result!  Now, the Iltalians might have sea-faring trains, but the French can go one better – double decker trains!

Oh, how great to be back in our little house in the mountains in the Var.  And a whole two sleeps, although only thirty six hours, until we are home in not-so-sunny Battersea.

The Hotel's Bright, The Hotel's Orange

Saturday, 18th October

We got off to a flying start to the grand tour, largely by not having to get up early for the flight.  We dropped the car off at the valet parking (love it), and went to the Speedy Boarding Plus check-in.  One day, everyone will cotton on to Speedy Boarding, and then we will all be back to square one.  Lots of screaming infants on the plane, mercifully none near us.  Our hotel in Palermo was a little bit weird, not least of which being that it wasn't actually IN Palermo, and the fact that it was more than slightly orange.  Serves us right for booking through Easyjet.

We found a little restaurant near the hotel, which was very much in the ‘you’ll eat what you’re given’ mode.  We had ‘Frutta di mare mista,’ and ‘pesce grigliata.’  There was a little debate over what sort of pesce it was.  I thought it might be bream, and the waiter told us it was a ‘sarago.’  Online, back at the hotel, I googled it.  Bream, bingo!

Sunday, 19^th October

A reasonably early start, leaving the Palm Beach Hotel at nine.  Breakfast was dominated by French Saga louts, all wearing shorts –revealing distinctly dodgy, wrinkly knees.  It was hard to work out who were the chavs, and who the chav-nots.  We had a moderately hair-raising journey to Palermo Stazione Centrale.  The train took two hours and twenty minutes to reach Milazzo, and we were taken to the hydrofoil by an ageing hippy.  We are struggling with the local dialect.  And the locals are struggling with our Battersea-isms.  My Italian is a grubby mix of French, Latin and Spanish, but we are coping.  We took the hydrofoil to Lipari, just making the onward connection to Salina by the skin of our teeth, or – la pelle della nos dente.

The hotel is charming, a rustic triumph, with an infinity pool and a spa.  Xanthe has declared it the best hotel she has ever stayed in, as usual.  We sat on the main roof terrace, and drank cocktails before supper.  Unfortunately, the mosquitoes here are vicious.  Some of the worst I’ve encountered.  Ever.

Monday, 20^th October

Troy and I were up remarkably early today.  Considering.  Considering we didn’t have to be.  Actually it was quite nice for a change.  We all hit the spa this afternoon.  We steamed (in a traditional tholos), Jacuzzi-ed, kniped and hydrotherapied with the best of them.  Supper out of the hotel tonight, and then off to Napoli domani.

The Hotel's Bright, The Hotel's Orange

Saturday, 18th October

We got off to a flying start to the grand tour, largely by not having to get up early for the flight.  We dropped the car off at the valet parking (love it), and went to the Speedy Boarding Plus check-in.  One day, everyone will cotton on to Speedy Boarding, and then we will all be back to square one.  Lots of screaming infants on the plane, mercifully none near us.  Our hotel in Palermo was a little bit weird, not least of which being that it wasn't actually IN Palermo, and the fact that it was more than slightly orange.  Serves us right for booking through Easyjet.

We found a little restaurant near the hotel, which was very much in the ‘you’ll eat what you’re given’ mode.  We had ‘Frutta di mare mista,’ and ‘pesce grigliata.’  There was a little debate over what sort of pesce it was.  I thought it might be bream, and the waiter told us it was a ‘sarago.’  Online, back at the hotel, I googled it.  Bream, bingo!

Sunday, 19^th October

A reasonably early start, leaving the Palm Beach Hotel at nine.  Breakfast was dominated by French Saga louts, all wearing shorts –revealing distinctly dodgy, wrinkly knees.  It was hard to work out who were the chavs, and who the chav-nots.  We had a moderately hair-raising journey to Palermo Stazione Centrale.  The train took two hours and twenty minutes to reach Milazzo, and we were taken to the hydrofoil by an ageing hippy.  We are struggling with the local dialect.  And the locals are struggling with our Battersea-isms.  My Italian is a grubby mix of French, Latin and Spanish, but we are coping.  We took the hydrofoil to Lipari, just making the onward connection to Salina by the skin of our teeth, or – la pelle della nos dente.

The hotel is charming, a rustic triumph, with an infinity pool and a spa.  Xanthe has declared it the best hotel she has ever stayed in, as usual.  We sat on the main roof terrace, and drank cocktails before supper.  Unfortunately, the mosquitoes here are vicious.  Some of the worst I’ve encountered.  Ever.

Monday, 20^th October

Troy and I were up remarkably early today.  Considering.  Considering we didn’t have to be.  Actually it was quite nice for a change.  We all hit the spa this afternoon.  We steamed (in a traditional tholos), Jacuzzi-ed, kniped and hydrotherapied with the best of them.  Supper out of the hotel tonight, and then off to Napoli domani.

Wednesday, 15th October

Beth and I took the children to see West Side Story at Wimbledon tonight, tonight.  Da da da da da...It was less than a success.  The casting was mostly woeful.  The most entertaining part of the evening being Xanthe having an attack of the Malaprops.  She told Beth that she keeps all her money in an offshore account in the Canine Islands (not true, it's in First Direct and the Halifax).  On the way home, we were discussing the full moon, and Xanthe announced that she had never seen an ellipse.  I said that I thought she probably had, and she said that she meant a total ellipse.

Thursday, 16th October

I had the longest day I've had in years.  I was up and at them at 9.30 this morning at King Eddie's, then off to the Institute of Public Health for a Breastlight seminar.  Heard some great stories, then off to John and Lizzie's (this is actually a hospital, not a dinner party,) for the afternoon session.  A list full of regulars, which is always nice.  Then back home to crack on with the 4 Ways reporting.  By the time I had worked for ten hours straight, I was nearly in tears.  However, I managed to make a chicken soup supper with broad beans, chilli, and courgettes.

Friday, 17th October

I am deeply apprehensive about our grand tour.   I am sure we will miss a connection, or some such disaster will befall us.  So most of the day was consumed by checking, and double checking, our arrangements.  The household ritual is never to cook before a trip, so we went to Manny's for supper.  Funnily enough, we are probably more organised than we ever are at this stage of a trip.

Obstacles At Every Turn

Monday, 13th September

I should have known when I put my Clash T-shirt on inside out, and then had to change it (which we all know is bad luck), that it was going to be one of those days.  I had loads to catch up on, workwise and on my photography course, so I called Rachael, and cancelled our trip to Tooting.  Still no sari then.  So I went to fire up the HP to do some reporting, and noticed that the internet light on the BT router was red.  Bugger!  A problem at the exchange.

In that case, I thought, I'll catch up on my 'Favourite Place' project work for the week.  When I say catch up on, I mean - start.  I switched on the Nikon, and it went straight off again.  No battery.  For God’s sake.  I had to resort to doing next week’s course work.  The speed of battery charging wasn’t helped by Yula unplugging it, to plug in the hoover, and forgetting to put it back again.  Eventually I had enough to juice to photograph a miniature wooden Paris.

I had quite a phone call today.  Nicola, the agent, rang.  Rowan at the William Morris Agency, loved the book.  She wants a few tweaks before assembling a proposal, and we have a meeting arranged for the week after we get back.  The internet came back up, just as I needed to leave.

As I was going over the road for the quiz, I noticed how amazing the full moon looked.  I ran back inside, got my camera and gorilla pod, and got a few shots for ‘Exposure Safari,’ for next week.  We lost by half a bloody point tonight.

Tuesday, 14^th September

I needed to crack on with the increasing backlog this morning.  The internet was working fine, but the server at 4 Ways was down.  When will the universe stop pissing on my daily plans?  The server came back up, but was on a go-slow.  So it took me ages to catch up.  And I spent hours struggling with Photoshop.  Good job it was a quiet day at the ranch.  I opened up my Safari browser this evening, which defaults to the Apple homepage, showcasing the new MacBooks.  I was looking at a very sexy 13 incher, which you can customize to 4Gb RAM, and a 350Gb hard drive – and all of a sudden it was in a shopping basket, and checked out.  I only went online to write my blog – so it’s all your fault.

Bye Bye Sunday

Saturday, 11th October

Where has this year gone?  Today was the Pink party for Gabrielle's 50th, no presents, just donations to Breast Cancer Campaign.  I gave my usual speech, and left not a dry seat in the house.  Between Beth, Pippa, Camilla and I, we managed five raffle prizes.  The buffet lunch was a bit odd, in a way that Pot Luck meals tend to be, but there was lots of pink champagne.

In the evening we went to Manny's for Gordon's birthday.  All the usual suspects eventually turned up, and a very good time was had by all.

Sunday, 12th October

Xanthe, Rachael and I went to Southall for a sari-buying expedition.  We were starving when we arrived, and immediately went for a blow out lunch.  This was the first curry I had eaten out for months.  Bliss.  Xanthe was initially a little unnerved to find such a cultural oasis, but a few chaats, butter chicken and naan later, she was feeling much more at home.  We found Xanthe a lovely deep turquoise and lime green sari, and went on a search for matching bangles, earrings and a necklace.  She now has the perfect outfit for her birthday/neo-christening party.  Rachael has been recruited as godmother in charge of languages.

My hunt for a sari was less successful.  None of the blouses would go over my shoulders, or do up around my ribcage.  Instead of buying jewellery to match my sari, I found a fabulous necklace, and now have to find a sari to match, in red and gold.  So we will have the second leg of sari shopping, in due course.

Sparta Park won 5-0 again tonight.  Another bye.  The boys were keen to play anyway, so took on the might of the Three Lions (combined weight 1.6 tons).  Mind you, at the beginning of the season the combined weight, was over 2 tons).  Troy kept a clean sheet in the first half, and handed over the goal-keeping reins, firstly to Dean, and then Rich the Spic, or should that say Spich.  They let a total of six dribble through their four legs, and realised that loafing about in goal isn't as easy as it looks.

Xanthe earned nine quid in tips tonight, waitressing in Manny's.  Who'da thought?

A Load Of Cock

Wednesday, 8th October

It was a fabulous show last night.  Jumoke told everyone I was looking glam, and suggested they had a look at the webcam.  Webcam?  Shit!  Last time I went in looking like a bag lady.  I must remember to tart up in future, and future there will be, as they would like me to become the Late Show's Doctor in Residence.  The first caller rang up with a problem with her boyfriend's penis, and it snowballed from here.  The floodgates opened for us to spend the evening talking cock.  It's rare for men to bare their bits on air, so I was pleased that the listeners sound as though they trust me.  The faltering moment came when Jumoke asked me what my position was on circumcision.  I bit back the desire to say that I prefer my sausage with the skin on.

Less than twenty minutes from studio to home, and a glass of wine.

We went to Xanthe's Showstopper's concert this evening.  Dreadful, she wasn't kidding when she said they couldn't sing.  But the singing was better than the frightful musical solos.  I think the catgut was still attached to the cat, for the violin, and the horsehair still part of the horse for the viola solo.  If I could have one invention, it would be a seek and destroy ray for any stringed instrument played with a bow.  Then some poor kid came on with a bassoon.  It was hard to work out whether the buffoon was playing the bassoon, or it him.  What's going to happen when he gets to University, he's never going to impress a girl with an instrument like that.  Or at least not unless she's a freckly ginge, with buck teeth and a commitment to Jesus.

Thursday, 9th October

A heavy day at work, and I was catatonic by the evening.  We went to Manny's to see Rachel, who was a bit jet-lagged, and the three of us spent a fairly quiet evening.  She bought us back beautiful hand woven Guatemalan scarves.  Lucky cow had one of Paj's home made curries for supper... But I had Guillaume's very fine foie gras. Ha, HA!  Andy has had the great idea of cooking Christmas supper for everyone in the kitchen at Manny's on the 19th of December.  It sounds a hoot.   I volunteered to help.  Blayne then asked if the children would be interested in babysitting their girls for the later part of the evening.  I am sure they would.

Friday, 10th October

The children are delighted by the idea of looking after the McKechnie girls.  For a small consideration, as I pointed out.  ‘Ah,’ says Perry, ‘now we get to the interesting part.’  I suggested ten pounds each.  ‘Isn’t that too much?’  Asked Xanthe.  You can imagine Perry’s response.

I had the first real indication that Fluff is growing up today.  I cry my eyes out at any vaguely soppy movie… soap… song… advert.  Normally she seriously takes the piss out of me, but tonight, watching our Friday night rom com, little tears were bobbling out of her big blues.  Oh!  Sweet revenge.

A Load Of Cock

Wednesday, 8th October

It was a fabulous show last night.  Jumoke told everyone I was looking glam, and suggested they had a look at the webcam.  Webcam?  Shit!  Last time I went in looking like a bag lady.  I must remember to tart up in future, and future there will be, as they would like me to become the Late Show's Doctor in Residence.  The first caller rang up with a problem with her boyfriend's penis, and it snowballed from here.  The floodgates opened for us to spend the evening talking cock.  It's rare for men to bare their bits on air, so I was pleased that the listeners sound as though they trust me.  The faltering moment came when Jumoke asked me what my position was on circumcision.  I bit back the desire to say that I prefer my sausage with the skin on.

Less than twenty minutes from studio to home, and a glass of wine.

We went to Xanthe's Showstopper's concert this evening.  Dreadful, she wasn't kidding when she said they couldn't sing.  But the singing was better than the frightful musical solos.  I think the catgut was still attached to the cat, for the violin, and the horsehair still part of the horse for the viola solo.  If I could have one invention, it would be a seek and destroy ray for any stringed instrument played with a bow.  Then some poor kid came on with a bassoon.  It was hard to work out whether the buffoon was playing the bassoon, or it him.  What's going to happen when he gets to University, he's never going to impress a girl with an instrument like that.  Or at least not unless she's a freckly ginge, with buck teeth and a commitment to Jesus.

Thursday, 9th October

A heavy day at work, and I was catatonic by the evening.  We went to Manny's to see Rachel, who was a bit jet-lagged, and the three of us spent a fairly quiet evening.  She bought us back beautiful hand woven Guatemalan scarves.  Lucky cow had one of Paj's home made curries for supper... But I had Guillaume's very fine foie gras. Ha, HA!  Andy has had the great idea of cooking Christmas supper for everyone in the kitchen at Manny's on the 19th of December.  It sounds a hoot.   I volunteered to help.  Blayne then asked if the children would be interested in babysitting their girls for the later part of the evening.  I am sure they would.

Friday, 10th October

The children are delighted by the idea of looking after the McKechnie girls.  For a small consideration, as I pointed out.  ‘Ah,’ says Perry, ‘now we get to the interesting part.’  I suggested ten pounds each.  ‘Isn’t that too much?’  Asked Xanthe.  You can imagine Perry’s response.

I had the first real indication that Fluff is growing up today.  I cry my eyes out at any vaguely soppy movie… soap… song… advert.  Normally she seriously takes the piss out of me, but tonight, watching our Friday night rom com, little tears were bobbling out of her big blues.  Oh!  Sweet revenge.

The Siege Of Troy Is Back In Business

Sunday, 5^th October

Forgot to take the dongle to the pub tonight, so I can't write my blog live.  Well that's me excuse (sorry I mean my - I am not morphing into Russell Brand) and I'm sticking to it.  In fact the upshot of this was that I had to work on the mastectomy chapter for Cordelia.  In fact I knocked out almost another 2,000 words before my battery died.  I ordered the Thai Green Curry for supper.  What arrived was perfectly edible, but no way a green curry.  It was more like sweet and sour chicken, not hot, and served with peppers and green beans.  I was so let down by my expectations, I had to have sticky toffee pudding after.  Even Troy had a spoonful.

Sparta Park won again tonight, 3 more points and a 5-0 score, without even kicking a ball.  Their opponents rang and cancelled.  That’s not very rock and roll, why not behave like any inconsiderate footballer, and simple fail to show up.  Troy still went along to check out The Dukes, the main opposition, but now Sparta Park are leading the league on goal difference,

Monday, 6^th October

I had a totally manic hour at work today, but hugely productive in a financial sense.  My last patient was Kay, and we went to the Providores for lunch afterwards.  We had an exceptionally good meal, and swapped top quality gossip.  From Mandelson to Brown, and Barry George to Blair.  No evil Victoria Beckham stories today though.  Boo!  I love having lunch with friends who can put it on expenses.

Back home to a paltry 19.6 MRI equivalents.  Then over to the pub for quiz night.  Hooray!  Three years nearly since Troy was banned from the Woodman, and our Monday night quizzing had to stop.  Now Siege Of Troy is back in business!  The hostilities with Clueless can recommence.  A few of our ringers are missing tonight, but I am sure we will soon be back on top...     

Not quite, we came second by a passable two and a half points.  It does take a little while to get into Quiz Ed’s mindset, although we did miss a few answers which we should have got.  Another eleven quid into the quiz kitty, which we have kept going for around four years.   We should have nearly £250 so far, which should make for quite an evening out by Christmas.  We resorted to taunting Mario with Spurs abuse.  QEd joined us for a drink afterwards, and a fascinating discussion on astrology.  I think.  Definitely astrology, perhaps not so sure about the fascinating bit.  Anyway, he has promised to do Mr and Mrs Moore’s charts.

Tuesday, 7^th October

A very busy day.  I went to see the Breastlight people for a meeting and a bit of a brainstorm.  Or boobstorm, perhaps.  We had a very rushed lunch, as I had to be in another meeting at two.  Following that I had an abortive trip to Princess Grace for no bone densities.  Then off to the post office to collect the cocktail strainers.  Next a trip to ASDA for the bits for cottage pie.  I bet Madonna wishes she had my life.  In the supermarket, I got total ASDA overload, and wandered the aisles, lonely as a cloud – or some such.  I got to the till, and went to take my wallet out of my bag, only to find that wallet there was none.  Oh no!  The girl on the till very kindly offered to ring everything up, and bag it, while I ran back down to the car.  Relief!  There it was on the front seat.  I legged it back up to arrive just as she was finishing the last bag.

Still no cocktails, despite now being in possession of the full kit, as I am having a night of abstinence, pending driving back up to the BBC, on Marylebone High Street.  The cottage pie was good though.

A Very Lazy Saturday

Blogging two days in a row.  Get a load of me.  Spent the day feeling lousy, and inevitably I didn't make it to the the gym.  However I did manage to get all of the theory out of the way for week two of my photography course.  So all that is left is to do the assignment, two different photos of a favourite subject, place, thing or person.  Ho hum, Troy?  One of the dogs?  Diamonds?  Curry?  Decisions, decisions.  Well, I have until Wednesday week to figure it out.  We missed a package this morning, which was probably all the cocktail bits.  Damn!  We bought lots of Tequila, Martini and so forth in Waitrose before the film yesterday.  I was hoping to mix a mean Margarita, or Manhattan, but so far all I've got is a jigger.  Rats.

I got the eReader working as well, and read a fascinating 50 pages of David Crystal, one of my favourite writers, on How Language Works.  I am in the slow process of deleting all the free classic books I don't want, although I did briefly run through a Midsummer Night's Dream again.  Some of them a worthy tomes, but not really what you'd keep in your handbag.

Have assembled the whole ten for my birthday party now, which is a relief.  I found Rachel online from Guatemala, and had an MSN conversation in French.  I even made a Francophone play on words, so does that make me a punning linguist?

If We Shadows Have Offended

Wednesday, 1st October

Went for lunch with Allaker, my oldest friend from school, who now goes by the name of Sarah-Jane, which I have trouble getting used to.  We met at the Waterfront at one, and hit the ground running, without even saying hello.  At the end of the meal, we decided to share a pud.  I asked for the menu, and, without thinking, ordered a sticky toffee pudding, with two spoons.  'How relaxing to have lunch with someone who knows me so well, she doesn't even have to ask what I want for desert,' she said.  We discussed children, husbands, and why we are so tired all the time.  I suppose because we are in our mid-forties, and keep forgetting.  At the point where we started to discuss the importance of a big cock, a group of businessmen hurried away from the adjacent table.

We popped over to Cake Boy, and I bought two decadent chocolate and fruit tarts, for Xanthe and I to have after supper.  I asked her if she wanted anything,  'That painting,' was the reply.  For a woman who never gave her sweet tooth to the proverbial fairy, that was quite something.

Thursday, 2nd October

I took Xanthe to see A Midsummer Night's Dream, at The Globe.  It was a brilliant production, and we laughed until we stopped.  It's amazing to think that a play, written over 400 years ago, can still be so hysterical today.  Not to mention smutty, leading Xanthe to the conclusion that it had been doctored in some way.  Not at all.  Fluff bought a plague rat hand puppet, and immediately demanded to re-enact the whole honeymoon rat-scenario thing.

She soon became highly proficient at the art of stuffing her hand up a plush rat's bum.  We may have a new Shari Lewis on our hands.  We need to organise ventriloquism lessons.

Friday, 3rd October

Achmed The Dead Rat, (or Willshuck, as Xanthe likes to call it) went to school with her.  I wonder what the teachers will make of it.  We are thinking of working on a script for the pair of them.  Mr Moore has come up with a first line...  Have you heard the latest statistics, they're scary, in London you're never more than two metres away from a human.

I HATE Being On Call

Saturday, 27th September

I hate patients who get arsey about appointment times.  They wouldn't try it on with orthopaedic surgeons, so why do it to us?  Having to do a routine Saturday morning list on call is bad enough.  Then they don't FUCKING TURN UP.  Went to the Nelsons for a barbeque this afternoon, which was fun.  Camilla, Xanthe and I took a trip to 'Little Manila,' just a few metres from their front door.  Here there are loads of tiny Filipino supermarkets, packed to the gunnels with exciting, exotic food.  Much of this is crammed with colourants, resulting in extraordinarily improbable food colours.  But you can find the odd gem.  Wasabi peanuts... Heaven.  And a packet of frozen banana leaves for future use.

My entire day is ruined, by losing to Hull, 1-2.  Thank God we decided to give the trip to The Emirates a miss.

Sunday, 28th September

Got up stupidly early for a Sunday to finish the work backlog, before going to see my Dad.  I am at the end of my tether with this work, and have the worst tennis elbow, from holding the dictaphone.  I am awarding myself a couple of days off, for it to settle down.  I spent the afternoon figuring out how to access my OU photography course, and got through a fair bit of the first session.  The boys won 7- 4, against the confusingly named - Where My Pitch Is At.  Whom I think should be called - Smack My Pitch Up.  My bright idea of locking off the camcorder so I didn't have to stay and watch the match, was crap.  Unusable footage from a static viewpoint.  What was I thinking?  The highlight of the evening was seeing some of the boys behave in a quite unreconstructed manner, after Gary's revelation that he plucks his eyebrows, and Veets everything else.

The children eschewed our company tonight, to spend the evening with Ali, Leo and Victoria.

Monday, 29th September

Just two patients today.  Bliss!  This allowed me to spend much of the day sorting out the Sony eReader, and the ultra-rugged waterproof, drop-proof, and freeze-proof, camera.  I was tempted to put it in the freezer to check.  Took the kids shopping after school, which is like trying to sit on a pile of marbles.  Just when you think you have everything under control, they go clattering all over the floor again.

The usual suspects got together for our Mixology class at Bluebird.  We were plied with just as much alcohol as we could manage, and genuinely learnt a lot.  Hopefully everone's memory was intact at that point.  So it was a fairly noisy six-some that turned up at The Big Easy.  The waiter suggested that I should have the all-you-can-eat barbeque.  I even accepted a bib.  I am not sure how many racks of ribs we got through in total, but it was a lot.  Especially if the state of my fingernails is anything to go by.

Tuesday, 30th September

Tackled the To Do Box Box, and, apart from finishing my tax return, I think I cracked it.  Nevertheless, I am still stuck with a sneaking suspicion that I haven't achieved a lot.  No real life patients today, just paper and electronic ones.  Virtual patients.  I finished everything in session 1, except the assignment, including spending several hours sorting and classifying photos.

My new nano turned up this morning and very sexy it is too.  Fluffy can have my old red one.  Recession, what recession?  If the US government won't spent it's way out, I'll just have to do it myself.

Last night was a bit of a wash out.  Mr Moore and I trekked all the way to Bankside Pier, anticipating champagne, canapes and a photographic opportunity extravaganza.  What we got was a pint and a rose, in plastic cups, which we bought from the Globe pub (that's the pub next to Shakespeare's Globe - not a spherical one), and thirty-five minutes freezing our nuts off.  Well, Troy's at least.  By 9.20, there was still no sign of the boat, which should have been back by 9.00 at the latest, for our proposed 9.15 sailing.  At that point we decided to throw in our collective towels.  After all, even Liz Brewer gave up, and we all know she would go to the opening of a crisp packet.

Today we had our MacMillan coffee morning.  I asked Ritchie from over the road, who looked dubious, until I mentioned cake.  He was over like a shot.  We raised £75, which was a lot better than last year.

Something made me really happy tonight.  In PC World, I found a charger that does rechargeable batteries in 15 minutes.  Gadget heaven!

Dressed For Comfort, Not Speed

Wednesday, 24th September

I left the house dressed to thrill, stretch black leather Jitrois skirt, fitted Matthew Williamson black jacket, and matching turquoise Jimmy Choo stilettos and Wayfarers.  A lot of effort for a 30 minute meeting, but worth it as it turns out.  Rob, Nicola (not just an agent, but the managing director of the company) and I bandied some thoughts about cancer, and medical TV in general.

I mentioned my book, and Nicola's eyes lit up.  In no time at all we were talking about potential advances, pr tours and what-not.  She wants to see the first 4,000 words as soon as possible.  Amazing.  By the time I got home, she had copied me into an email to the Editor-in-Chief of a large publishing house, pitching a book she hasn't yet even seen.  Doubly amazing.  She even slightly changed the title and added a sub-title, so it's now called, Tits Up - at least when you're bald you can't have a bad hair day.

Absolutely fizzing with excitement over this.  The easy part is writing the ruddy thing, the hard part is getting it to sell.  Nicola also seemed fairly keen on me as a co-presenter with Rob.  Watch this space.

Troy was having a drink over the road with Dan, early evening.  I joined them briefly, and Troy went home to cook the beef fillets.  I finished up my wine and excused myself, explaining to Dan, 'I had better go home to help, the steaks are too high to risk.'

Thursday, 25th September

Today I am dressed for comfort rather than speed.  Thursday is always a long day for me, as I am going to be clambering on and off a boat in the Thames later, I decided this was not the day for killer heels.  Mr Moore had some unpleasant news today: yesterday his friend Richard took the car out, having been drinking all night, and shortly found himself being airlifted into the Royal London for spinal surgery.  I just hope that (a) no-one else was involved, and (b) that this proves to be the wake up call that he so badly needs.  After all this is the man who thought it was appropriate to make my mother a balloon man with a gigantic penis.  The look on her face was priceless.

I had a phone call from Nicola mid-morning, but missed it because I was with one of the only three patients I have today.  Damn, damn, damn.  I tried to call her back, but she was in a meeting.  She wanted to speak to me about the book.  I realised that, because I didn't have my reading glasses on me last night, I sent the 4,000 to a non-existent email address.  Rats!  And not in a Marrakech way.  Sent it again this morning to the correct address, along with some random writing, a media biog, and a photo.  I need to send another photo but I want to photoshop it first.

My phone just rang, a private number, and conked out due to lack of signal.  Double rats.  I caved in and rang Nicola at the office.  Her first call had been intended to say that she was a bit disappointed with the sombre tone, which in keeping with what we had discussed yesterday. That was a piece I had written for The Telegraph, sombre indeed, it wasn't even in drama-queen-Daily-Mail speak.

Fortunately the correct piece hit the ground running, and she has already sent it to a pair of agents at William Morris.  Nicola has also spoken to her editor friend, who says she will do anything to help.  I can't believe this is all happening so fast.  She's advised me not to write any more for the time being, and to wait to see what sort of a steer the agents want to give it.  It needs more of a grab apparently, so a small rewrite, to start with me looking at the screen, and going 'Fuck!  That wasn't there last year.'

Just as she was going to ring off, she had one last, throw-away, line... 'Oh, I nearly forgot to say, I pitched you for a TV series this morning.'

Wow!

Media Me

Tuesday, 23rd September

An extraordinary thing happened this morning.  About six months ago, I met a lovely woman whose husband is a TV producer.  She is also friendly with Rob Buckman, one of my childhood heroes.  He had written a book called Cancer Is A Word, Not A Sentence, and was looking for a female medic co-presenter.  She was going to put me in touch with him.  Six months down the line, I am looking through my mobile for another Sarah K's number and see hers, I toyed with the idea of calling her to find out what was happening, but decided that too long had passed.

You can see where this is going.  This morning I got up to find an email from her, timed at 23.06 last night.  Rob is finally in the country, and she told him about me, he wanted further details.  I sent him an email, and within an hour he emailed back, suggesting that we meet at his agent's tomorrow.  Brilliant, what with being made the medical spokesman for Breastlight, (more of which later), it's been a hell of a week.

We went to see Daddy again today, and it was a bit of a joke-fest.  My Ma had been to the dentist for a routine check up this morning, so Daddy asked her what the dentist had said...  'Open wide.'  I drawled.