Maybe I should rebrand myself as Mrs Miniver's Quarterly - but here I am back again wth the usual good intentions, spurred on by a nice comment from Pam who is kind enough to miss me. But tonight I can't claim I'm 'too busy' as I'm home alone on a Saturday night - and yes, there is still a bit of me that feels that's social disaster, even at my age! I suppose I could have made a bit more effort but dinner was half a bottle of red and a whole tub of Pringles (and I don't mean one of the mini tubs!). Lips are burning and yes, it serves me right. And then I watched Christmas in Connecticut - about a food writer who can't cook - to assuage my post-UPF regret. I'll have you know that I spent last weekend baking 17th century mince pies from a long-lost recipe; much faffing and guessing quantities and in all honesty, they weren't as nice as the pies I usually make.

I can't say I'm feeling Christmassy yet, though most of the presents have been bought - which is entirely out of character for me - and there have been several outings that brought a chance to admire the London lights. Possibly best seen from a bus as the crowds are something else this year, or maybe I'm just getting old. Best outing by far was the hilarious David Copperfield at the tiny Jermyn Street Theatre, performed by an energetic cast of three; sitting on the end of the front row, I was worried that Mr Murdstone might trip over my feet and land on my lap. I also went to a matinée of the RSC's Wendy and Peter Pan - bizarrely on a rare sunny day when it was warm enough to sit on the Barbican terrace without a coat. The set was amazing and the flying scenes were stunning but shrill feminist Wendy was totally charmless, jokes that made school parties laugh went over my head (oh lord, I've turned into my mother!) and it went on far too long for me and I nodded off. Anyway, it has ended now, long before Christmas and the school hols which seems odd.