The travelling Aunty is here. She is sleeping in the cellar with a mouse. I tell her that the mice always come in winter, and there's very little we can do about them. This is what you get with old falling down Victorian houses. Mice. It is normal.
In other news, Squirrel is experimenting with clay. She has managed to fire small pots by first blasting them in the oven at 200C then placing them, wrapped in foil, into a coal fire, which we only light when we have visitors or the temperature sinks to 0C. She is getting quite good results, so I hope there's a career in it. Either clay pot making or lemon-peel stitching.