Our friends, Stephen and Janine, live in The Lake District. Even more interestingly, they own the house where Arthur Ransome lived towards the end of his life and from where he wrote the wonderful children’s book, “Swallows and Amazons”. At least, I’m sure it’s wonderful, judging by the first chapter (thought I had better read it as our friends own the famous house now). Their house is set within the rolling landscape overlooking beautiful Lake Coniston, the inspirational setting for the story.

Our friends intend to let the guest accommodation adjoining the main house, and Stephen has asked me to come up with a suitable logo to put on mugs and place-mats, that sort of thing… for sale to the visitors. Hence, I’ve been drawing and PhotoShop-ping Arthur Ransome all day. The funny thing is that the author reminds me greatly of my Granddad Barnes. I said to Chris, “I rather like drawing Arthur – he looks just like my grandfather.” Chris took a look at my drawings and said, “He looks like everybody’s granddad!” What do you think? Does he look like your grandfather?

Those words have been going over and over in my head ever since last week when I saw the 1987 film of the  “Queen” Concert Live from Budapest. The film began at ten-thirty one night on BBC Four and I thought I would just watch a half hour of it before going to bed. Eleven o’clock came and went, twelve o’clock came and went – it was magical. It was so entrancing that even Chris stayed awake to watch all of it, which is just as well because had he snored I would have hit him (or prodded him fiercely!).

When Freddie Mercury began the haunting strains of “Who wants to live forever?” I had tears in my eyes, thinking about his premature death from AIDs in 1991. I took some comfort from the irony that he does live on in a way, in his work and in people’s memories – maybe not forever, but as he sang… “Who wants to live forever?”

What can Daniel mean?

My nephew, Daniel, is a charming boy. He loves his Aunty Sally, of course, but he’s at the age that he doesn’t want to be kissed (not by aunts anyway). For that reason I always approach him as if I’m going to kiss him but  I give him enough time to pull a pillow up to his face or to run and hide. Yesterday he was on the sofa when I entered the lounge-room and went over to kiss him.

“Oh no!” Daniel pulled a face and grabbed a pillow, “I don’t want to be kissed by a fat panda!”

“A fat panda?” I asked. (So much for Dr Dukan’s diet and those four pounds off.) “What  a horrible thing to say to me, especially when I’m so slim now. What if I was sensitive?”

“I said a ‘pat panda'” he laughed.

We both laughed and he let me run my hand through his hair instead of kissing. I seem to remember that I didn’t like people coming up and kissing me when I was child…I have changed!

What could be more pleasant than nipping down to The Anchor Inn at beautiful Cockwood Harbour on a summer’s evening? The scenery is stunning…

Excuse me if should come across a little bit tipsy at the moment but, following my recent discovery in Brittany that I actually enjoy a tipple, and my blog announcing that I intend to drink more, I could hardly refuse a drink or three from the bottle of lovely red Australian wine that Catherine, my friend and neighbour, brought around half an hour ago (it was a thank you for mowing the grass the other day – quite unnecessary really because all the effort of getting through the thick couch grass down by the sea wall was rewarded already by a two pound weight loss (of course I put it back on again but it’s off again now). But that isn’t what I wanted to tell you about this evening, let me think….

Oh yes, I remember. Our nice P’aussie (Pommie/Aussie) visitors left for Cornwall this morning. We really enjoyed their stay, so much so that both Chris and I forgot our commitments for the day; there we were chatting away merrily after breakfast when the phone rang. It was Ron ringing to remind Chris that he had promised to take our neighbour to hospital for a minor operation, which in turn reminded Chris that I had to go to the dentist. That call was rather a conversation stopper, suddenly we were all running about getting ready for “the off”; Chris flew out the door first (the hospital was waiting), Sue and Glenn threw their suitcases into their hire-car and bade their sad but hasty farewells, and I spent twenty minutes in the bathroom, cleaning and flossing my teeth, and gargling with mouthwash, before setting out to Newton Abbot with 45 minutes in hand for the twenty minute journey… in winter traffic.

I arrived at the dental surgery five minutes late and had time only to read one Somerset Maugham short story before I was called in, greatly to my surprise. “You look surprised”, smiled Alison, my dentist, knowingly, from the doorway as she watched me fumbling with my large book and reading glasses, “I see you expected a very long wait!” It was a different room to usual. And a different chair.  “No armrests”, I noted and Alison understood. She usually gauges when to stop drilling by the whiteness of my knuckles gripping the armrests and by the curling of my toes simultaneously – I always endeavour not to scream although I have been known on occasions, when the drill makes it impossible for me to hear myself, to make funny whimpering noises without me even realising it.

Alison gave me what I now realise was an injection on a par with a tranquiliser dart for an African elephant, no doubt to make up for the loss of the vital armrests. In spite of the fact that I felt no pain, my tongue nevertheless objected to the shrill, watery drill and it tried (against my will) to push the blasted thing out of mouth.

– “Can you pull your tongue back, Sally?” Alison asked.

– “I’m afraid it has a will of its own,” I apologised.

We had to stop several times for me to swallow and for Alison and her nurse to compose themselves.

My dentist had to make a temporary crown for a back tooth that had broken off (the ravages of popcorn – eat it at your peril) and she had to guess the size of my mouth in order to choose the right device for making an impression.

– “That’s perfect,” she said, very pleased with herself that she had guessed correctly.

– “What size is it? Am I normal?” I asked. (Well, you would, wouldn’t you?)

– “Average”, Alison answered, “but there are small settings and large. Just the other a day a man came in with the biggest mouth I’ve ever seen!”

– “I’m so glad to be average,” I said. (Never thought I’d ever say that.) “Have you ever kissed anybody who had a really small mouth?”

Alison stopped making her impression to give the matter some thought while the dental nurse giggled somewhere in the distance behind me.

– “No, I haven’t actually,” she looked at me in the manner of a pretty blonde meerkat and continued,  “why have you?”

– “It was awful,” I informed her.

– “Yes, I can imagine,” Alison then puckered her lips and moved her mouth up and down.

– “That’s it exactly,” I laughed.

We all burst out laughing. As I left Alison told me to be careful with my new temporary crown (the real one will be fitted in a fortnight), especially when eating, for the following two hours. Chance would have been a fine thing! And I was starving. All I could eat three hours later was an ice-cream (sorry but the diet was of secondary consideration at the time) and even then I bit the side of my mouth terribly, but I didn’t find out until that elephant dart injection had worn off six hours later! By that time I was nearly finished painting Ron’s balustrades with Chris (it will be a nice surprise for Ron when he comes home tomorrow) and when at last we had dinner of steak and broccoli I couldn’t eat it because it tasted of bathroom sealant (at least, as I imagine bathroom sealant tastes!). So you see, my slimming Dukan diet hasn’t been affected too badly after all. Tomorrow may be a problem though because I want to go vegetarian…

We have more visitors, this time from Australia again. I know, I’ll try to be careful with my diet – don’t want to ruin the good work of the last week. Anyway, our guests are a nice couple who just happen to be the brother and sister-in-law of my recently widowed friend who used to be an old boyfriend many years ago, long before I married Chris. It sounds more complicated than it is. Well, our visitors have stopped off for a few days in Devon before carrying on to Cornwall and we’re having a lovely time. This morning I received such a funny email from our mutual friend/brother-in-law (you understand) that I’m going to share it with you. Of course, it’s all tongue-in-cheek.

Dear Sally,
You have got no idea how much I wish I was there, I can just see it all now.
Sue and Glenn on one side of the table, me sitting at the end of the table,
they are to my right, I’m only at the end of the table because I’m on my own, not
because I’m the master! Chris and you are to my left but you happen to be closest to me
just by organised chance! The dinner is on the table, the conversation is back and forth,
and of course the wine is flowing. Somehow or other I manage to stretch my leg out
and reach your’s without creating any suspicion, and because the weather is so hot
none of us are wearing full shoes only sandals or flip flops. A toe touches a toe!
A hidden smile, and an undetectable glance of eyes shows that we have made the
slightest of contact!
Then a thought crosses my mind? What if Chris has his right leg wrapped around
yours? What if he outthought me and knew I might try a sneaky footsy contact? How embarrassing for you and me! I would have to put it down to cramp, or because it’s
my bad leg, an innocent stretch, but then again with my toes touching his albeit for a split
second, a whole new world might have opened up and we could become the closest of
friends!!!!!!! ……….

And this is part of my reply….

Felicity the cat may not be very clever but she has her future all mapped out. She wants to do her “A Levels” twice, have a gap year, go to university, do the first year again (in case she doesn’t feel confident that she understood everything), perhaps change direction from social science to the performing arts, which will stand her in good stead for doing a three weeks fitness teaching course (costing £1,000) when she drops out from the performing arts course; ultimately, she intends to work at Tescos in Exeter because it’s far enough away from Dawlish not to expect to be seen by snooty friends.

Flea, as we call her affectionately, was slightly worried until her “Gwanny Porch” came over for lunch the other day. You see Flea is nearly twenty and still can’t read – she isn’t as gifted as my sister’s monkey called Andy – and she admitted to her granny that she was afraid that she might not get into school, let alone university. Typical Granny Porch became quite cross when Flea sat on her lap for a cuddle and complained of being depressed…

“What utter nonsense,” Granny said with authority, “everybody knows that anybody can get into university nowadays!”

Not being very bright, our Flea didn’t know that… but now she does and she’s looking forward to many years of the student life. Flea is intelligent enough to anticipate that they will be “the best years of my life, so long as I get into a university at least two hundred miles away from home!”

And her name is Felicity, but we call her Flea…

My sister’s little monkey is a typical youngster, he can do almost anything – he’s so clever!