A great day at the Rosebowl in Hampshire seeing the West Indies trounce Pakistan. Many thousands of Pakistan supporters blowing their trumpets continuopusly and waving banners and flags were up against a miniscule contingent of Windies enthusiasts blowing into their conch shells while equal sized portions of staid English neutrals and police and security goons to stop pitch invasions looked on. The Pakistani supporters were fantastic, real cricket enthusiasts, clapping and cheering every bit of good play from the West Indies as well as their own side and not seeming to mind one iota that the game was so one sided against them.

The day was marred by a biting cold wind, crappy car parking arrangements, and a wasp that bit me on the lip while I was eating my sandwich which necessitated a trip to the first aid tent as one entire side of my face swelled up like a balloon. I had to spend the rest of the day walking around holding my wobbly extra cheek in the palm of my hand. Horrible!

Moomin lives life fully, and views the world with a feeling of wonderment for such simple pleasures as collecting stones and shells. As gullible as (s)he is enthusiastic, (s)he is also naive and extremely good-natured.

Alexei Sayle’s shortlisted efforts are on line now; but that’s all. I can’t remember who anyone else did.

We stole into the library at 8 am to hang the fabled paintings, hoping only to bump into a cleaner or two. To my horror, sundry librarians and assistant librarians were everywhere to be seen, strolling up and down the stairs, leering at us. We stuck the frames on the wall and hurried away, the Moomin whispering that I’d not only brought the wrong pictures but that they were all twisted from damp and looked shocking.

Moving on to Tescos, we spent a jolly half hour replenishing the larder while discussing the merits of the ‘basic’ range of foodstuffs. Not the moomin’s favourite place, it seems. Then homeward bound, shattered.

What a beautiful Indian summer this is turning out to be. Jacques and Mireille came and went and after three lengthy bike rides, one to the top of the Downs, they probably think England is always this clement. On the last day of their visit, we went to Arundel and watched a parade of vintage cars. It was most edifying to realise yet again that cars, or at least their basic designs, haven’t improved one iota over the years. What’s more, we saw the original of the Chrysler PT, in its pre WW2 guise.

The biggest excitement of the week was heading to Bognor and buying myself a wetsuit for the windsurfing I plan to do. Trying these revolting rubber contrivances on in a small toilet on a hot day was nightmarish. Added to the fact I got the zip the wrong way around and then had to expose myself to the view of the many headed when I checked the different sizes out in front of a mirror, I was sweating profusely by the end. It’s incredible to think people actually wear ‘rubber gear’ for pleasure. Next week, after a couple of days on the lake, I should be ready for the open seas.