11th December 2011

After a decidedly nippy week, our central heating boiler finally spluttered back into action on Friday. Sue and I had been bundled up like Arctic explorers, sleeping under hot water bottles and thermals. In my quest to trim energy bills, I replaced one of the outdoor security lights with a more efficient 120-watt model, a smug little victory undone by the realisation that I’d accidentally cranked the garage freezer up to 9 instead of down to 1. Apparently, “energy efficiency” is a relative concept when you need reading glasses.

Our smart meter has been an education, showing exactly when the power spikes. It’s like a detective game: fridge, kettle… or Jamie walking through the door.

The wind has been howling all week, undoing any leaf-clearing I managed. One fence panel finally surrendered to the gales. I patched it up, but Doreen’s offer of reflexology was a far more pleasant form of manual labour. Later, Nigel stopped by and secured the panel with screws rather than nails, a polite way of suggesting my repair skills are more “temporary measure” than a “lasting solution.”

While we were in Devon, Sue and I found a flat stone that seemed perfect for Murphy’s headstone. This week, I carved her name into it and painted the letters gold. Charlotte was delighted and placed it with Murphy’s remains in the garden.

Sarah returned home on Wednesday, fresh from university life. She took her driving test on Friday, but alas, a single major error meant a fail. She’s rebooking, and I’m confident she’ll ace it next time.

Lucas’s 5th birthday party at the rugby club went off well despite a frosty morning and Gary, the bar steward, having a brief memory lapse. Nina and her son joined the celebrations, and the children had a whale of a time. I resisted the bouncy castle, not out of maturity, but from a strong suspicion that my back would file an official complaint afterwards.

Sarah dashed back to university afterwards to tackle essays before Monday’s exam, but she’s taking Nan shopping at Meadowhall on Tuesday. I’ll be chauffeuring them both home for Christmas on Wednesday, assuming the weather behaves.

Saturday afternoon found me at the rugby club again, only to discover the opposing team had pulled out. I ended up refereeing a match between the Thirds and the Vets in my winter coat and hiking boots. The players may dispute my style, but I found it rather entertaining. Afterwards, I joined Jim Hankers and Jim Crawford for televised rugby and liquid refreshments.

Jamie, meanwhile, has been on a full-blown Christmas shopping mission with Harley, spending and wrapping in equal measure. He’s positively buzzing for the holiday, though his bank balance looks traumatised. I’m bracing myself to see if that red Ferrari I’ve hinted at finally makes an appearance.

Despite battling a cold, Jamie also played football at Rothwell High School last week, against none other than Sebastian Vettel’s chief mechanic. One imagines he was tough to tackle.

A recent Skype chat with David revealed he’s been busy painting Nan’s lounge, replacing curtain rails, and promising to clean the carpets with the Unit’s cleaner. He and Genya enjoyed a Sunday roast courtesy of Nan, though their Christmas plans are uncertain. I still don’t know whether David celebrates Christmas; he used to be a Jehovah’s Witness, after all.