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Home brew. Nothing to beat it. Someone gave me a 24-pack of normal beer, Toohey's Ice, recently. I drank a bottle last night, up against another bottle of my own Canadian Blonde number 10. The Toohey's had no taste at all, the only thing it had going for it was strength, but that doesn't interest me. I'll have to give away the other 23 bottles. If hotboy will pay the postage to the other side of the island, he can have it all. He actually likes alcohol.

This weekend is turning into a great one. No weddings or funerals to go to. The sweet sound of the new brew bubbling away in the barrel. The beloved partner sick in bed with the flu so I can take her bowls of soup yet she's too weak to argue with me about anything. And I beat her at Scrabble, including 92 points for a made-up 8-letter word ("boardage") which turned out to really exist when I Googled it.

Last night I lay on the floor watching The Alan Clark Diaries on TV through the light-bending glasses, a warm black gundog lying beside me. Can life get any better than this? You'd hardly know there was a war on. What a fortunate creature I am! For now.