Not posting

Grit is not allowed to post today because she must break her fatty habit web.

Grit has got into the very bad habit of sitting down at her desk at the end of a long and tiring day composing a blog entry with a glass of beer / wine / whisky at her side. (Not all at the same time, obviously.) This habit must be broken if I am to do anything about my rear.

So I am not posting about today.

Incidentally, a bit of mail arrived today addressed to Pastry, who left the middle flat in 2006. I see the return address is Alston Hall. I am reminded by that bit of mail that in 1993 I set the fire alarm off in Alston Hall and got the entire fire brigade out at 6am.

Dig was telling everyone about commas that day and had to get up early to write the conclusion to a very important thing he was about to say. I put the kettle on for a morning cup of tea and within minutes all the other guests are out in the yard in their pyjamas. But not Grit and Dig. We had been given a room in the annexe where the fire alarm didn't sound. We only knew the fire brigade were there because at 6.15 three beefy firemen burst into the room while Dig was lying half asleep in bed and Grit was on the toilet.

I think that might have been the day that Dig realised I was the woman of his dreams.