The novelty of having this stuff around is wearing very thin. Christmas day Chloë had to ferry grandparents up and down in a landrover and she's been driving it ever since because it's the only means of transport guaranteed to cope with conditions. Boxing day I managed to lug the turkey, bread sauce, veggie stuffing and gravy up to g'dad's (he and his wife baulk at sheep-station cookery so it always seems to fall to me but I'm thinking of rebelling next year.)

Today the books are being moved into the garage by a chain gang of lads otherwise employed as foresters so - heaven help the finer vols. My back and asthma have been playing up something chronic, probably at the thought of shifting 5730 of the remaining stock... urgh.

This was our view on Christmas day from Iain's house. It looks across the Moray Firth to the hills of the Black Isle beyond.

We had a warm and wonderful time over two days and are all much stouter than before.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Spiffingly good last day for the bookshop. Someone even bought the complete works of H. G. Wells with out frst asking me why 'The War of the Worlds' and 'The Time machine' aren't amongst the titles.

It really must be the last day because I felt sad sharing a warming glass of port with Tom mid-morning for the last time, and positively emotional when I closed the door after the last customer, a very nice young man who has been a steady browser-buyer. He took a large bag-full with him including three nicely bound small volumes containing the complete works of Shakespeare.

Charity begins...

.... at Christmas? I usually give all my small change to the Red Cross and there's quite a lot of it because I can't add up or take away fluently whilst holding a conversation so all prices in the shop are whole or half pounds and anything copper coloured goes in the interestingly shaped Red Cross box which empties out at around £20+ every month or so. I like the Red Cross because they offer help in disaster zones regardless of race, colour or creed and won't wittingly place any religious books on their shelves to avoid giving offence. This time of year, with so many Charities rattling boxes or dropping in to catch me sitting at my desk I usually send them on their way with those thoughts because the cash tin isn't THAT bottomless even this blessed week. However I do get caught by my own sentimental nostalgia and the rattle of tambourines outside Tesco had me slipping a tenner to the Sally Army (the Salvo to our antipodean mates) for my dad, and another into the Dr. Barnardo's box for taking in my half-brother whose latest letter about what it meant to him to find me and therebye get to know about our dad, had me in tears this morning.

Fun and games with BT yesterday. I wanted to close my business line and Chloe wanted to take it over, using her number which is at the moment residential and carrying her Broadband. Three phone calls by both of us resulted in the closing of the line (so any friends who ring me on 676576 - it's the other one now!) but when Chloe rang to try her luck at picking it up where it left off there was an office party in full swing in the BT Business line call centre and operator-guy burst out 'Oh this is going to be a NIGHTMARE!! It'll take WEEKS!!" So she decided to keep her number residential for the time being.

I have my fingers crossed she doesn't lose this line completely - like a piece of knicker elastic it might slip down the track and never be seen again.

Once or twice a year I remember why penguins walk in that amusing way.

The condition of the High Street pavements, covered with frozen and/or slushy stuff, should ensure a steady supply of broken legs and arms for the NHS plasterers to practice on and there were plenty of hardy or foolhardy folk out waddling along on them, which was good for me because my doorbell kept ringing as they slid through into the cosy warmth of this little bookshop and its last ever week got off to a really good start.

...and yet more on Mr T ...

An interesting additional tale of the onward march of Toad has surfaced in my pond this morning. During the summer a woman went to the Other Bookshop to say she had books to sell. Ms T went to see them, dragged out some piles and said she couldn’t buy them on the spot but would like them at a later date. The woman wasn’t best pleased to have had the books taken off the shelves and left in piles on the floor so when ‘the man’ phoned to say that he thought ‘they could do something about her books now’ she was already dubious. He turned up in a beaten-up car full of black plastic bags and looking - creepy was the word she used. The creepiness continued as he hung around and hung around telling her stories of his life she han’t asked to hear, for instance that he went into a seminary at an early age. This tidbit always comes up for the ladies; I suppose us romantics like such a show of spirituality, but I fear it may be wearing thin. On this occasion he laced the tale with remarks about giving himself friction burns whilst he was there. Ho! Ho! So perturbed was she that she rang a friend and asked the friend to come round or agree to meet her for a drink so she could get rid of him, which she finally did.

Sounds to me as if the Toad is losing his pulling power. That’s two women who’ve told me his advances only turned them off. The other one blushed heavily as she admitted he’d asked her for a coffee then complimented her bottom. She found him sleazy.

He wasn’t always so unhealthily vulgar and louche. Well, he was vulgar but seemed more rugby player masculine rather than what he has become, shabby, cheap and disreputable. A skin-crawler.

Sad really.

Robins, doctors and sheriffs.

All very Christmas-card-with-robins, also one-foot-wrong-and-you'll-end-up-in-plaster here at the moment. I would like to light a Solstice bonfire tomorrow and am wondering how to do it - a very small one in a flower pot?

Thank you Gillian for your invitation - I think you're right g'son does need distracting and I wish we were closer. He would admire your toe - has an interest in all things surgical at the moment. Travelling in the car is a problem though - causes pain. There's a polar bear in a nearbye wildlife park who must be enjoying the present conditions. Maybe we'll get out to see her one day. For the moment he's cheerful to have been released. Fingers crossed.

It's been an interesting interlude in the Chinese curse sense (May you live in interesting times.) The most alarming discovery being that orthopaedic specialists round here really don't see 'the whole person.' Bandying words like 'somatised' around I thought they knew what they meant but no - they still believe he is 'putting it on.' 'Oh this isn't a mental illness, it's a cry for help!' one exclaimed. Heaven help the NHS if they get a case of Munchhausens or body dysmorphia. They will have amputated all limbs in less time than it takes to tell.

A cry for help it undoubtedly is but Sandy doesn't know that, and quite honestly we are at a loss - even knowing the problems how can we help? We can't just confront him with what we do now suspect, that it's tied up with the guilt and fear and anger he feels around his dad. To him the pain is 100% real and physical anyway.

It took me on a less than nostalgic trip down memory lane to 40 years ago and doctors who told me my asthma was 'psychosomatic' in the days when that was a buzz-word. They also misunderstood the meaning and felt I could 'rise above it' or control it in some way. 30 years on I found myself explaining to a doctor that the asthma was worse again because I had been especially stressed, only to be firmly chided: 'Asthma is nothing to do with your state of mind. It's a purely physical conditon.' Hey ho. A few docs along the way have actually listened to me and they were the real healers (even if they were repressing their own opinions out of politeness!)

I'm quite surprised my daughter doesn't have a somatised condition right now - she did have trouble writing the last horrendous £12,530 cheque for the divorce and custody proceedings! Her hand kept shaking.

Talking about court cases, I was pleased to hear that justice has been done vis-a-vis the bookshop up the road. The sheriff found in favour of the claimant, ordered payment, extra payment to him for time and stress caused, and imposed yet another sum for court expenses. The present owner was given a wigging (must be where the phrase comes from?) for not understanding basic business principles. One of which should be writ large in all the books on business practice - don’t get involved with Mr. Toad.

It won’t make any difference of course, she will continue to be in awe of his massive intellect (sarcasm alert) but it’s a heavy price to pay for stupidity.

Not much time to think never mind write here. The week has been full of trips up and down the road to visit g'son in hospital and a whole-day trip to the nearest MRI scanner in the back of a very rattly ambulance. Scan showed nothing wrong which is great except that it only scanned part of his spine and there obviously IS still something wrong since he is still in pain. It's all very frustrating. Sandy is becoming institutionalised but doesn't seem as depressed as he was for a while which is a relief.

We've met some interesting people as a result of his incarceration. A 15 year old German robotics engineer (he was invited to a convention in China on robotics he told us) who was at Gordonstoun for one term only and broke his leg in 2 places during his last ever rugby match. It must be hard for his school and parents to know what to do with one so bright to stop him being bored. Hospital was boring for him because he couldn't get onto the internet but he was nice to Sanders, and a jolly sort so it was quite nice for us visitors having him there too. The doctors - well, they've been English, Scots, Indian, Dutch and Egyptian so far. Orthopeadic specialists, and paediatric specialists and neurologists - and that's just the list to date.

I commend myself for having posted five parcels, one 3' high (dragon) and I've almost written my cards. There were plans to make some but that went out the window as usual.

The shop is doing well when I'm in it, but I wish folk would stop saying 'It's such a shame you're closing.' Bah humbug! Where were you blighters all year?

Squashy

I shopped locally for these two in a nice toy shop a few doors away, the owners of which are biting their nails because the season isn't happening yet in Forres - I hope I got it going for them this morning! After a lot of wavering between clothes and sensible 'educational' toys I decided that every one-year-old needs an utterly useless squashy green dragon which does nothing but grin, take up two grown-up-sized seats and let you cuddle it.

Pirate-guy has buckles and zips and laces which his older bros can show off with. (There's also a clock coming for Big Bros to put together and some nice classical music for them both.)

Now all I've got to do is find a big enough box.

On-line shopping.

In between the baking orgy and sitting twiddling my thumbs in the shop I have been doing my Christmas shopping on-line with some success until today when I wanted to create my own calendar with family pics for a couple of relatives and for me. I find however that my iMac is too aged and generaly doesn't have IT any more - just like me only it's only 3 or 4 years old unlike me. I can't even down-load the updates because it isn't a Leopard and therefore is too far down the food chain even to be updated. Grrr! This built-in obsolescence really makes me grumpy.