That’s it. Snowed in for the third day. Just Tommy and I and a woodburner to attend to and twelve hours a day to fill with activities for a two and a half year old. I am beginning to saturate. I even found myself curled on the sofa this morning with a pillow on my head hoping Tommy would forget I was there and just go and play with his toys on his own wthout me having to simulate a fire engine siren, a pram-chase, a Gruffalo monster fight on the bed or a building site in full swing. It didn’t work. I got poked in the eye with a two metre long cardboard tube (WHO gave that to him?) which had a small plastic sausage sliding down the inside so that when I opened my stabbed eye I got a second hit from the sausage. So we went to the farm in the thick snow, which involved me chasing Tommy down the hill as he perillously ran ahead of me unaware of the ice-stricken killer roads, and then carrying him all the way back on my shoulders squashing a few vertebra cushions in the process, painfully de-snowing the car with no gloves because I’d lost them somewhere on the way and hauling five baskets of logs up the stairs to the house. And we made bread, which involved about twenty minutes of breadmaking and three hours of cleaning up plus a fight with the bread machine which wouldn’t let go of the bread tin. The bread was good though. Total fluke. Anyway, as I awoke from an unplanned two hour nap with Tommy I realised that my body, partly from the cold, partly from boredom, was slipping into hibernation and that on no account should I stay up writing until midnight. So today’s entry is short and not even very sweet, but I leave you with the promise of tomorrow’s subject: “C’est le top” and “c’est le most”. I kid you not.