Once upon a time, I was really really masculine. No, seriously, ask anyone that I went to school with. I was the hunkiest of the testosteroniest of the jockiest of the Men.
Many of you may remember Men Behaving Badly.
Tony: I’m sorry, look what happens when you live with a woman? She’ll fill the place with cushions.
Gary: Cushions, yeah.
That’s always stuck in my mind, for some reason. And it comes back particularly hard on occasions.

Between us, Pete and I have carelessly managed to lose four grandparents in the last fourteen months; we’re getting pretty damn good at funerals. All this morbid black makes you feel a strong awareness of your own mortality, and a certain heightened appreciation of the people you still have around you.
[Except in certain cases, where wills are involved and small fortunes seem likely to be dispersed in all the wrong ways. I strongly advocate disposing of one’s assets well in advance of one’s demise, so that there’s nothing left to be fought over or to cause bitterness and resentment. I would recommend buying, in advance, your place at the best of nursing homes, in which to see out your days. Then, if you pop your clogs before being able to take up your place, you can just leave it in your will to the next-likeliest-to-go.]
For my own part, the recent run of funerals has convinced me that I do not, under any circumstances, want a religious funeral. I was happy to learn from this blog, written by a humanist funeral celebrant, that there is an alternative. I also require an inexpensive, environmentally friendly cardboard coffin, cremation, and the scattering or burying of my ashes in Grasmere, where several members of my family are already interred.
Finally, I don’t care what colours you wear, or what songs you play; whoever’s stuck with organising the affair can please themselves. Just have a drink or two and look to the future.

Back in June, Pete and I stayed with my Great Aunt in Grasmere for a few days. She’s in her eighties, and had recently had a fall, so we found ourselves doing various chores for her, like refilling the squirrel-feeders and taking her to the supermarket.
On one of our thrilling trips to Booths, she decadently purchased a frozen pizza, and confessed that she rather liked this new-fangled delicacy, although she found it difficult to cut them up.
For her birthday last week, I sent her a pizza wheel. She is reported to have been thrilled to bits, being already in possession of an entire desk full of floral notelets and more boxes of chocolates than the ambassador’s party. She said, no-one ever gives me mod cons!
So now I need your help. What mod con can I send her for christmas?

Karen isn’t fiendishly devilishly good at Monopoly.
I think this is the first time that I’ve ever managed to win a game with just one complete group of properties. Karen managed to get round the board first, and bought pretty much one property in each group. I got the reds. Those are my hotels. They tore her apart.