The electrician was here at 10am, to see if he could discover why the downstairs power kept blowing. Four or five times in the last two weeks, all the electrics for downstairs have blown out, each time when we were right in the middle of cooking dinner. As this hasn’t happened before in all the time we’ve lived here, we figured we had better call in an expert to take a look at it. There are some things you just don’t mess with unless you really, genuinely know what you’re doing. An electrical power supply is one of these. So the electrician deduced that too much power was going through one fuse. How come it hadn’t blown before now? Well, the only thing we can think of is that we have a new deep fat fryer which is more powerful than previous types. Each time the electrics had blown, we’d been using that – at the same time as using the oven, hob rings, kettle, two lots of ceiling lights, the electric fire and running the DVD player and TV, plus the music system which the TV speakers wo

Gardening can be hard work, as Ygraine demonstrates in this photo. Emily has discovered how to jump over the fence. As we'd like to keep our dog (and not be sued) we now need a higher fence. Ygraine has never once escaped. Emily has earned the nickname Houdini, and is currently under house arrest until the fence can be installed. It'll be delivered on Friday. But before it can be errected, the thorny hedge which I've been coaxing to slowly grow since we moved in now needs hacking back again. Now, when I say thorny I mean thorny. Think of 3" needle-thin spines every finger-space along every branch. As a deterent to two-legged pests it's done an excellent job. A certain four-legged scamp, however, just ducks underneath it then scrambles over the old low wire-mesh fence. So we spent part of the weekend pruning back tree branches and branches from a long and towering (not-thorny) hedge. This afternoon I began the task of pruning back the thorny hedge. I've do

Richard is watching the rugby, (England vs. South Africa). At least he says he is. He doesn't generally snore whilst awake. However, the second I switch the vile machine off (or turn it down) he'll open his eyes and insist he's thoroughly enjoying it. I have no idea what these men are doing, other than running after a ball then throwing themselves into a big heap. There seems to be a lot of shoving and pushing, and a fair amount of bellowing - though I have no idea what they're rabbiting on about.... Sport is peculiar. I have never understood it - or wanted to, actually. An awful lot of people disagree with me, obviously. That's ok. If they wish to pay upwards of £50 for a spectacularly ugly t-shirt or a silly foam hat, that is entirely their choice to do so. Imagine if knitting was promoted in a similar way to football or cricket or rubgy. Our city streets might be flooded with drunken grannies chanting, "Knit one, purl one! Knit one, purl one!"

Last night’s premier of The Snow Queen, performed at the Empire Theatre in Liverpool was wonderful! The English National Ballet more than lived up to its reputation for excellence with this new ballet choreographed and directed by Michael Corder . The fairy tale, originally written by Hans Christian Andersen, tells the story of Kay and Gerda, whose love is jeopardised when Kay falls under the evil spell of the Snow Queen. Kay leaves the village and Gerda, and goes to dwell in the Snow Queen’s icy palace. Gerda has other ideas, however, and dances all the way to the North Pole in a tiny pink dress to rescue him. Fernanda Oliveira carried the demanding role of Gerda with seemingly inexhaustible vivaciousness. Daria Klimentova ’s portrayal of the Snow Queen was suitably dramatic and aloof, and her glittering costumes must have been a delight to design. The Snow Queen had two rather cute pet wolves. Every home should have one. Really, it should. So long as they didn’t eat my other

Ooow, what a gorgeous Autumn day it's been here! Walking along the beach without need for a jacket, enjoying the amber sunshine with my two dogs, my feet drenched from having performed an impersonation of Dr Faustus as we meandered through a glittering pool of sea water... Now that's what I call a good break from the computer! Yesterday afternoon saw me taking part in a Poetry Marathon hosted by Central Library in Liverpool, and organised by Pauline Rowe of North End Writers as their contribution to National Poetry Day . It was a free all-day event, with a continual stream of poets (known and unknown all being treated alike) performing their work for the public. The audience was a respectable size. People wandered in and out, of course, and the poets’ styles were as diverse as could possibly be hoped for. Everyone had been previously allocated ten minutes each, which gives some indication of the large volume of poets taking part – plus some people came along on the day an