Snow! The gloriously dry, warm, sunny weather disappeared in a gust of wind yesterday bringing in sleet and dark grey skies. It had to happen. I like proper seasons. At least I try to!

Stir-up Sunday (or should it have been Saturday for the Wee Free observers of the Sabbath?) just passed and dutifully I made the four big fruit cakes expected by the various branches of the family. I forgot to take the cake's photos before I doused them in brandy and swaddled them in greaseproof and tinfoil to sit in the garage (coolest place and carless) until required. It isn't a chore once I get going - with care I can use the same lining for all four cakes - but I'm still wondering when I can pass the baton to a daughter. Sophie is the most likely candidate. She likes cooking. Chloe doesn't. Sophie is a cook after my grandmother's heart, rarely following any recipes but going by instinct and throwing in the ingredients she's seen a television cook using without too much worry over quantities. It seems to work. She makes the best apple crumble I've eaten, much better than my own.

This weekend it the turn of the puds and copious steam throughout the house. There will be more of us together to eat the main one this year so I'm planning to make the usual recipe then add a supplement, Mrs.Beaton's Figgy Pudding which doesn't have to be made before Christmas eve. There will have to be a trifle too, for Iain. There will be too much. I always go over the top and do too much. I should have been a Victorian cook. Maybe I was.

A friend did one of those Arvon writing course and came away determined to write her autobiography, mainly for her own benefit and as a sort of therapy. I was just embarking on a rehash of mine having lost one version to the last computer crash. We decided to have a weekly meeting to goad each other on. I hardly need goading because I can write so much at a sitting - verbal diarrhoea really - but the energy has gone out of mine because I've done it before so I thought it might help. What it did, unfortunately, was to halt me in my tracks. Her life has been so much more interesting than mine, besides which she has an aunt, alive at 101, who has been able to give her the most eloquent cameos of the life of their family before during and after the wars, including the birth of my friend's father. She even remembers what the weather was like! I have nothing like this. To make matters worse I've been reading Isabel Allende, 'Paula' which is often autobiographical. Allende's writing is so rich and saturated with her colourful Chilean upbringing that I'd almost decided I'm too bored by my own
unadventurous childhood in a safe English village to continue. Then today I read in the Inde that Diane Keaton's mother said 'Every living person should be forced to write an autobiography.... too go back..... ' so I am going to press on and try not to fall asleep. Another piece of good advice found in an Arvon publication is from Alan Bennett - don't start at the beginning start with a time that interests you and let the rest emerge around that. Words to that effect.

Apart from these activities I am now entering the panic-about-Christmas-presents phase when I overspend hopelessly because I'm rubbish at spotting the perfect gift for people.....