Well, all I can find to say today is that I’m running late and only just about to prepare breakfast for myself. This will consist of two sliced bananas and a generous smattering of horsefood. Add milk, and there you have it. A yummy and sustaining feast.

Plenty of cheese in these parts!

Talking of large posteriors, Mama was listening to french radio where she learned that if your waist measurement (measured around the belly button) is greater than 92cm (for females) or 102cm (for males) you are considered obese.

Mmm.

Well, I’ve given both these monsters up for the New Year, once existing supplies (of choc) have run out. All laugh derisively, as if there’s some doubt I’ll stay the course. We’ll see. Liv gave me two kilo bars of CDM for Christmas, which I’ve just finished. If, as I intend, they were my last for a while, at least they will provide a good memory.

Concerning the Lakes: Easter’s available, from 3rd April, I think, as is May, either 1st or 8th, I’m not sure which.

We got back last night, at 12.15. Amazingly, only a six hour journey, which I don’t really understand, considering there was a lot of traffic, several delays, and a minor hiccup when we missed the M25 turn off and had to double back up the M1. Maybe we entered a time hole.

It was a great few days, except perhaps the ending, when the Newcastle supporters amongst us headed off to St James’ in the certainty of an easy victory over Blackburn, only to watch a dismal performace turn sour in the second half. Toby buying me a sweaty pie was the highlight of the afternoon: scalding hot ‘meat’ and gravy and damp pastry. Delicious.

There were nineteen of us for Christmas lunch, with turkey, roast potatoes, brussels, pudding, profiteroles, cheese, coffee, wine, champagne. Later, we played Empires, which some may remember from Isola, and Canasta. Also, on the first evening, we had a long game of Monopoly.

We went down to the land on Boxing Day and built a bonfire, chainsawed logs, drove the two four wheel drives around and bombed about on the little motorbike. The bike was great, though changing gears was a struggle. It was a freezing cold day but we all got warm. Then, onto Granny’s for lunch.

I did the 8 mile bike circuit across the golf course and down the avenue of trees with Crip one morning and Jamie the next. There are two seriously steep climbs that strain heart, lungs and thighs; but arriving back and having a hot shower made it all seem most pleasurable.

Then there was the five a side game. I was in one goal, James in the other. Crip, Jul and Henry just lost to Liv, Jamie, Edward and Edward’s friend. So we had a numerical advantage. We also had another advantage which was Henry struggling with an injured foot. Henry was a nightmare when he got close enough to have a shot at goal. He reminded me of Geoff. I would be lurching in one direction, to stop the ball that looked like it was coming that way, only to see it roll past me into the net on the other side. Had Henry been fully fit, we might well have lost. All in all, both tense and satisfying, with much discussion afterwards and some jolly backslapping amongst the winning fraternity that Jul claimed was ‘frankly nauseating’.

Then, homeward in Daisy.

I thought everyone ought to know about this, in detail!

Having seen John Cale at St Lukeís without the benefit of knowing Hobosapiens back to front, familiarity with the new songs meant I enjoyed Brighton ten times more. The set list was similar, though no Hallelujah, nor Cordoba. Queuing to get in, I was worried only a smattering of people would turn up. In the end, a respectable number half filled the Dome. It was a curious mix of young and old, weird and very ordinary looking. It could have been a model train collectorís seminar. I sat near the front; but as soon as the music started I headed closer to the stage. That was definitely the place to be. I thought the entire set was musically pretty tight, and song seemed to follow song seamlessly. There was very little talking, or introductions: the songs spoke for themselves. Over the years, Iíve got so used to hearing musically simple ñ just piano or acoustic guitar ñ versions of most of John Caleís truly amazing back catalogue, I found I preferred the recent songs to those I knew almost as well as childhood nursery rhymes. Having said that, Chinese Envoy and Andulucia were fantastic. I couldnít say the same for Paris 1919. The lead guitar interpretation of the pastoral interlude just didnít do it for me. There were three great screamers: Fear (unbelievable), Cable Hogue and Leaving It Up To You (visceral); they left me wondering at how much strain a throat (or heart) can take. I would have liked to hear Zen; but Over Her Head, Look Horizon, Magritte, Archimedes, and Things, were all top class. One song stood out above all the others, though, and that was Caravan. This was performed loudly, but started softly, remained beautifully modulated throughout, and rose to its crescendo so sure footedly I was in awe. What a fantastic track it is. I donít know how the enthusiasm of the audience compared with other shows on the tour. John seemed happy enough with his reception. I wasnít yodeling but I was clapping pretty loudly. Clapping above my head, which is rare for me. I did join in the shouts for an encore, but this was always going to happen, since it was used to both introduce and bid farewell to the band members. What I hope to see one day is John Cale in concert, alone with his electronic keyboard. Sensitive and accomplished though the others were, it was Johnís versatility that shone through. What a voice; what lyrics; what an extraordinary performer! My abiding feeling was astonishment at how somebody so accomplished ñ a living legend, as I overheard one person say – should attract such a relatively paltry audience; and how fortunate I was to be there.

So, there you are. Practically history in the making.

For you, Coco!