9th September 2010

A couple of weeks ago, I was halfway through what I thought was a witty and rather lengthy blog when my PC’s screen suddenly went blue and the machine began buzzing like a drunken wasp. The hard drive had gone kaput. The auto-save feature doesn’t work when the drive turns into toast. Too dispirited to rewrite it, I took my woes to the wise old apple tree in the garden. It didn’t offer a solution, but at least it didn’t crash halfway through our conversation.

After a few days, I steeled myself to start again on my laptop, and here’s what I remember:

I’ve discovered that beetroot juice is good for you, so I make a lot of it. Every single seed in the packet germinates, and because I can’t bear to waste them, I transplant every thinning into new rows, resulting in an epic glut of beetroot.

Sue recently had a birthday (I won’t say which), and I whisked her away to Manchester to see her Uncle Stan. We stayed in a rather posh DeVere hotel and enjoyed her birthday meal in its swanky restaurant. It’s clearly a hotspot for the well-heeled; Manchester United and City players dine there and play golf on its exclusive course, many living in mansions dotted around the grounds. Oddly, about two-thirds of those mansions had ‘For Sale’ signs outside. Such is the glamorous yet transient life of Premier League footballers.

I now have an allotment, unfortunately, on the far side of town. Sue isn’t impressed; she prefers her vegetables shrink-wrapped or frozen. Jamie has already announced he’s planning to build a house on it.

I’ve also taken to eating Manuka honey. Its health benefits are much debated, but I’m reserving judgement. I fully expect to outlive Tutankhamun, though to be fair, most people already have.

Ellis is growing fast and will soon follow in his granddad’s footsteps, side-stepping and tackling his way into Harborough RUFC.

The Newarks are soon to become Desborians. Suraj starts a new job with Northamptonshire Council next week, involving lots of driving. They’ve bought a new-build in Desborough, completion sometime this winter, according to Persimmon, who’ve also bought their Newark house in part-exchange. Suraj and Charlotte are knee-deep in decisions about kitchens, doors, sockets, and enough “etceteras” to fill a phone book.

Jamie is still seeing Harley and has vague plans to move in with a friend who owns a bungalow, though nothing has materialised yet. He spends most of his spare cash on his car, which now sports racing cams and a new oil cooler. Installing them was an ordeal involving much swearing and an oil-slicked garage floor.

Lucas’s hair, which Suraj attempted to cut, is thankfully growing back; he now looks less like a boiled egg.

One evening, Sue persuaded me to see a very dull period drama at Harborough Theatre. Within half an hour, she was asleep, muttering “just resting my eyes” whenever nudged, then slumping forward again. She insists she wasn’t asleep, but on the drive home, quizzed me on what she’d “missed”. I may have embellished the storyline.

Tomorrow, Nan, Roger, and I fly to Bulgaria to visit my step-brother David. I’m looking forward to it, but guiding Nan through security and passport control on a budget airline could prove challenging. Roger has promised to “keep an eye on her” while I organise safe passage. My worry is, who will be keeping an eye on him?