If it's better to give

than to receive, who on earth do the givers give to? This week, me, that's who. I'll gladly imperil my immortal soul if it means PRESENTS.

First up, some beautiful flowers from Anisa. One of my favourite things in the WHOLE WORLD is watching flowers unfurl, and these were spectacular - a miracle on my mantlepiece. And then, as soon as they reached wide-open perfection, Jeremy asked, sobbing, if we could throw them out.


Hay fever. Bah.

Rachael says to snip the stamens off, and I will try that next time I'm lucky enough to have lilies, but It Will Not Be The Same.

Then my Ma came back from two months in South Africa bearing, among other things, a box of shells, hand-picked by her from a Cape beach. (I don't know why I haven't taken a picture of the box, as it's star-shaped, coloured crackly antique gold, and the lid is BEJEWELLLED.)

Technically speaking, Ma brought the shells for Sid, and to get the shells off her I did have to prise her, finger by finger, from the box, and then tie her up to the oven to stop her retrieving them and then listen to her SCREAMING HER HEAD OFF some nonsense about them being HER shells.

No, not really.


And then Rachael, who is an Autumn, but occasionally by accident buys Spring stuff, and then gives it to me, gave me a bee-yooo-tiful scarf.