Tomorrow is weigh-in day after my first week back at being "on a diet". I've been pretty good for much of this week and I've seen quite a bit of my Christmas excess simply melt away with a bit of exercise and a good strong dose of willpower; there are still many temptations left in the house left over from Christmas but generally speaking I've ignored them.

Mind you, last night, watching a batch of sky-plussed televisual entertainment, I managed to sink four bottles of my favourite American "beer" and two ramekins stuffed with pretzels. I was pleased this morning to note that the scales hadn't been adversely affected, but I'm not sure that today's input will help my case much.

I'd forgotten that there was a "Luncheon" after church today. It's Christian Unity week and we invite members of the local Catholic Church to join in our service, some of our lot go up to them and then we all meet for a soup lunch afterwards.

The soup was delicious, but I've no idea what was in it re. fat content etc and I ended up eating two bowls because Kid at the bottom of the heap took two mouthfuls, saw that her brother had something a different colour and demanded some of what he had instead. In addition to which, there was no option for an unbuttered roll to go with the soup so I ate butter for the first time in years and remembered just how delicious it was.

Of course, if the scales don't give me a good reading, it is bound to be the result of someone-else's heavy-handedness with the dairy products and nothing whatsoever to do with my alcoholic tendencies!! Isn't it?

The things they bring home...

Much hilarity around the dinner table last night, even in the midst of sadness. Such is life. Kid-in-the-middle has revived the family tradition of relaying the dreadful jokes they hear at school, usually over dinner. This generally involves much groaning from the adults at the table and is followed by an attempt at joke-telling by Kid-at-thee-bottom-of-the-heap. Her complete inability to stop laughing, or remember a punchline usually renders these unfunny at best and in the worst-case scenario, simply incomprehensible.

So, in the grand tradition, there was an Englishman, a Scotsman and an Irishman. (Apologies to any Irish people reading this. You know where it's going.) And they found a shiny new bucket. They rubbed it, as you would, and out popped a genie. The genie said that as there were three of them, he would grant them one wish each, and that whatever they wished for, if they slid down the slide that he was about to produce, and into the bucket, the bucket would be filled with whatever it was they'd wished for. They were a bit sceptical...a slide, going down into a bucket? How would that work? Surely the bucket was too small? The slide a bit dangerous?

The Englishman went first. He was very worried about this whole slide/bucket scenario and actually not convinced that the "genie" was for real, so he simply wished for cotton wool to land on. Lo and behold, as he slid down the slide, the bucket expanded and filled with the softest, bounciest cotton wool known to man and the Englishman landed as if on a downy mattress and in complete comfort. They were all amazed, and the Englishman a little miffed at the opportunity he'd missed.

The Scotsman, having seen what happened, leapt onto the slide and wished for lots and lots of money. And lo. And behold. As he wished and slid, the bucket expanded and he landed in the biggest pile of large denomination notes of cash you've ever imagined.

And so, it was amidst much merriment and excitement that the Irishman jumped onto the slide with a huge grin on his face and as he started to slide down the slide he shrieked "Wheeeeeeeeeeee".

Oh the hilarity. There's something about short, consise words for potentially rude things that juveniles find irresistible - wee, poo, bum, fart. Mention any one of these and small children will crease up with laughter and keep themselves amused for hours simply by repeating the offending word. Which is why I am surprised that nobody seems to have noticed that our latest acquisition rhymes with wee. By rights, they shouldn't be able to play the thing for trying to control their guffaws, but play it they do. Endlessly if they think they can get away with it.

However, I have come to spoil their fun, because this Christmas, with much trepidation, dh presented me with the Wii fit. Apparently he was worried that I'd be offended, but the opposite was true - I was delighted.

Now I know that another blogger has said she's going to post a review of the wii fit, so I'm not going to steal her thunder. But I did just want to say that I have finally found something that gets me moving and is fun. It must be my inner-Monica, but I can't stand it if I don't beat my previous best and so I'm constantly spurred on to do more, do better and beat myself! No exercise video ever tapped into this uber-competitive spirit before, so I wonder if this piece of kit might finally be the thing that gets me moving and keeps me moving!! You never know, if it helps me to shift enough weight, you might find me slim enough to get on the slide in the garden and go "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Dark and Stormy

I've been struggling to write this for days now, but somehow I need to get it out.

On January 9th, my dear friend Grahame put an end to his suffering and took his life. It's hard to bear the sadness we feel at losing him, and difficult to process the fact that he survived his illness but not the treatment for it.

His wife has asked that friends and family contribute happy anecdotes from their bank of memories, and the only difficulty here has been choosing which. Grahame was a kind, generous, warm, intelligent, humourous man who loved nothing more than cooking for friends and sharing a dram, and most of my memories revolve around meals and drinks prepared for, or by, or with him. Who else would we find on a dark and stormy February day, shuggling a lamb in a binbag full of secret-recipe marinade ready for the barbecue. Sane people were supping soup and hugging their radiators, but not Grahame.

And talking of Dark and Stormies, it was Grahame who first introduced me to this wonderful drink - one I can't make without immediately recalling the oppressive feeling of Florida humidity and keeping an ear out for an impending thunderstorm. They aren't recommended on any diet that I know of, but take a long tall glass,add ice and a double measure of good dark rum. Squeeze in the juice of half a lime and top up with ginger beer. Drink, for preference, on a beachfront balcony as you watch thick jagged spikes of lightning break the sky and jab the sea hard while the air around you thickens and the thunder cracks over the ocean. Better yet, drink it anywhere, but with friends.

It's hard to say goodbye; sad to realise that there's one less rumbling laugh in the world. No-one left who calls me "Sweetie". We'll miss you Grahame, but we won't forget you.

Kath.

And breathe in!!

How can I have gained three pounds in a week? How?? I don't see how that is even possible. I know I went out for a Christmas lunch and ate more food in that one meal than I normally eat in a week, but I couldn't face supper that night so you'd have thought it would even things out a bit. And I didn't nick any sandwiches/sausages/cakes at the Christmas party yesterday. I'm annoyed and confused. Very annoyed and very confused.

Obviously I am going to have to re-start my food diary to keep an eye on what I'm doing. I thought I'd been quite good this week, but something has gone wrong.

Ah well. There's still time to redress the balance before Christmas. Perhaps several trips up to the attic to get decorations down will burn off a few calories. We have two of our trees up and running but I'm still to go and get the big tree from the farm. I spent much of this weekend organising party games for Sunday school and there wasn't time to do justice to a proper tree decorating session. We've re-scheduled it for Tuesday.

And breathe....

Bloody hell, I don't know where the time has gone. My days seem to have been filled with endless appointments, lists of things to do, and people demanding time, attention and money. And now it seems Christmas is looming on the horizon too!

On the plus side, I don't have any more presents to buy. Or none that I'm aware of anyway. *Makes mental note to go and buy an emergency present*

I've made a few gifts this year too. I've been re-learning to knit over the last few weeks. My grandmother taught me the basics years ago but I never really did anything with it. I've been inspired to take it up again after seeing some of the fabulous creations that friends have made.

So far I've stuck to very simple projects - a pair of legwarmers for Kid-at-the-bottom, a scarf and corsage for a cousin's daughter. The trouble with simple is that it can be a bit dull. I remembered why I lost interest in knitting all those years ago; a seemingly endless round of knit, purl, knit, purl isn't really all that engaging. I find myself looking at the ball of yarn and thinking "Are you still here?"

The corsage gave a bit of relief from the monotony. Now that was fun. I had to concentrate on what I was doing, and even if nobody else ever agrees with me, I'm chuffed to bits with my first attempt at something other than a potholder type piece of knitting. (I did make Kid-the-Eldest a sweater once. When I'd completed the work it was suitable for a 2 year old. Every time I washed it, the jumper got bigger and I think he was still wearing it at five!)

The only slight snag with all this is that I'll be giving my cousin's daughter her gift in the presence of my aunt. My aunt is a little bit of a daunting presence in my life. She's my Godmother and I love her very much indeed but she's so damn capable. And a perfectionist with it. This woman has Cordon Bleu certificates coming out of her ears. She sews, knits, crochets, quilts, embroiders, raises goats, has had her own bees, makes jams, chutneys, plays piano, organ, sings in a choir, runs a catering business, is a qualified pharmacist and grows her own vegetables. I may give Cousin's Daughter her present with strict instructions not to open it while still in Yorkshire.

That's the gifts covered, but there is still much to be done. This weekend is "Tree" weekend for us. We go to the local farm to pick a tree and visit Father Christmas. Tree decorating is an important part of our Christmas ritual. The chidren have their own tree in the porch which they pretty up with their own collection of decorations. These are a combination of things they've made at school and the decorations that they've found in their advent calendars each year.

I get to decorate the big tree in the sitting room. Our decorations have been collected over the last 15 years or so, and many have a special significance for us as a family. There is a little house to represent our first mortgage; a replica black hansom cab to commemorate the passing of my driving test; a tiny little San Francisco Cable Car to remind us of our time living in California. There's a doll's house pram, high chair and moses basket representing the birth of various kids. A spider's web reminds us of how this current house was full of them when we first moved in. A little Eiffel tower recalls our first trip to Paris as a family. There's a Guard in a bearskin from my honeymoon in London, and an angel made out of pasta that was given to me by a good friend in America. There are also three snowflakes to remember the babies that never made it, and two shooting stars; one for my childhood friend Elizabeth who died aged 32 and one for my dad. It seemed appropriate because I drove home from Elizabeth's memorial service with my dad and we saw a shooting star together over the Clyde Estuary and both sobbed out loud at the same time.

So my tree is very special to me, and I hope to add many more decorations to it over the years. Hopefully most of them will be happy little aide memoires, but even if there are some less jolly reminders, it all adds up to something very particular to us and it's an annual pleasure to get the decorations out and mull over their meanings.

Talking of mulling....wine!! Because obviously, once gifts and trees have been ticked off the list, food and drink must come next! We have plenty of wine because The Man I Married brought half of the European Wine Lake back with him last time he went to France. But apparently it's too good to mull. So that's another thing to add to the ever-increasing shopping list.

Christmas Eve is mulled wine, curry and meatballs night. Friends and any family who might be lurking nearby are invited over for drinks and then chucked out at 8.30pm so that we can get the kids to bed. It's always a bit manic but it really feels like Christmas is properly underway when there's a houseful of chattering people and spicy alcoholic wafts in the air.