Watty chunters on:

Well, what about all those things down there I was going to ramble about? Try these for size:

• Barbecues: No idea what I was going to say. Must have been insightful.
• Clothing: OK, this comes from socks, really. The point at which, for me, the year starts to look up is the day when I can stop wearing socks at home. As soon as it's warm enough to be able to wander around outside in bare feet, I'm off, and so are most of my clothes. 'Most', however, ought really to be 'all' for those few days (weeks if we're lucky) where it's properly summer. But there are conventions, aren't there? What if the neighbours see? They shouldn't be looking in, says I - I do refuse to close curtains or cover up when changing in the privacy of my own home, and I will certainly shower with the window open in the summer, because it's a shower room, not a steam room. Should anyone peer in at my somewhat unshapely near-as-damnit 40-year old body, well - lucky them. Or not. Almost serious point here - we Brits (and not just us, but I speak only from experience) are dreadfully hung up about our bodies. Poor self-image is one of the things which underlies my depression, and I only realised it the day I strayed onto a clothing-optional beach. Eventually, I realised I was normal, and since then have been entirely casual about nakedness - I shall try to encourage the boys not to be hung up, too. I don't know what it does for the neighbours, but it does wonders for my mental health. And anyway, what is the point of wering something - anything - which can only make you hotter and more uncomfortable in the summer?
• Tiredness / sleep The caffeine experiment has been a great success - I have had only one 'bad' day in nearly four months, but I'm tired all the time. Bone-achingly tired. I do sleep better now than when I first stopped caffeine, but it's still not enough - I need to think of something which will raise my level of alertness, especially at the end of the day - without filling my system with chemicals. Exercise is probably the answer.
• Lactose Just a passing note that the diet appears to be helping Cameron (I won't go into details, the boy deserves his privacy)
• The kilt: doesn't fit. I have the number of a kiltmaker in Hampshire somewhere (Yateley, I think - or is that Surrey?), and I have to bow to the inevitable: I'll never be 24 again, and neither will my waist; but it won't grace the upcoming pilg. Maybe next time. Still, it will save me from those who cannot resist checking to see if I'm a true Scot... (see above for possible clue to that)
• World Cup: We went to the zoo down the road on the day of the ENgland - Sweden game. It was quieter than it might have been on a warm day, but it was surprising how many children in England strips there were. Surely if they are interested in the football they could be allowed to watch it instead of being dragged around the zoo? On such sensible compromises are stable families built, surely. But having all the games in the morning is irritating and is detracting slightly from my enjoyment. There's no point in me whining or being hemispherist about it, but I miss the warm late summer evenings of '94.
• The Story: is almost done - I've written half of the next chapter, and I'm confident there will be only two more. Thing is, part of me doesn't want to finish it - I'm torn between seeing if I can do a convincing ending, tying up the loose ends and so on, and realising that it's done, and not knowing if I will have the energy or enthusiasm to do it again. It's taken over a year so far, which is not wildly productive for 30,000 or so words. I know that if I wanted to try to do it properly, I'd have to make a lot more time, and be a lot more discipined about it. For example, I should be doing that instead of this. *sigh*
• The Golden Jubilee Just a small thought - I may have been somewhat cynical and mildly uninterested, but my children have lived through (and may just remember) an event which will surely show up in their grandchildren's history books in the way that Victoria's various jubilees did in my parents'. I don't know what that means, it just is. But I quite enjoyed the bit I saw of the classical concert.

Ah, well. Enough of this nonsense...