Coming a Crocker

Didn't sleep so well last night. No doubt due to guilt and anxiety over possibly ill-judged remarks in my last blog entry. I was having a recurring nightmare that we'd returned to Linton and everyone was shunning us and there was a notice pinned to the charred front door of our still-smouldering home saying 'Go back to your big swanky American house and your fancy American friends...'

Though in fact half the fancy Americans were actually Canadians.

It's a funny thing, writing a blog. Is is a letter home? A record of events? Or a personal diary? If it's a diary, why am I leaving it lying around on a metaphorical park bench for anyone to pick up and read? And because I'm publishing more-or-less on the spot I might say something ill-considered which I can't take back. Then again, that risk is part of the fun. But will Chuck get into trouble because we've told the world he hasn't read all the bank forms? (Probably not, and anyway Chuck's not his real name.)

I daresay I worry too much. Also the Man tends to hover in the background suggesting improvements, to which I reply with increasing snappishness, 'Get your own blog!' And that could be fun, too, couldn't it - you could watch, from both sides, the slow disintegration of a marriage due to literary differences.

Not really.

Back to Albany. The toilet's still blocked, but the broken dryer has been replaced. The bath/shower in the family bathroom doesn't appear to be attached to any water supply.


We made a trip (my first behind the wheel) to the nearby Five Rivers Nature Reserve and took a stroll around one of the trails there. It was a lovely and not too demanding 40-minute walk along a lakeside path. The Girl eagerly skipped ahead, trying to accumulate a million points by spotting things on a list provided by the Study Centre so that she could claim to be a Top-notch Spotter. Our enjoyment was only marred by an incessant whining noise that followed us round the entire trail and sounded rather like a Boy complaining that he hated nature and why weren't there any trains thank you very much? He wasn't even distracted by the sight of a real live chipmunk.

Never mind. We got him home and he ate solidly for about 3 hours, miniwheats mostly, and cheered up considerably.


Our All American experience of the day was making Betty Crocker just-add-an-egg cupcakes. I dread to think what the judging panel of the Linton Garden Show Baked Goods Section would make of them, but we're a bit lacking in baking utensils at the moment. Still I find them strangely alluring, in a repellent kind of way. Wouldn't eat one if you paid me, mind you.