In which the Hamster descends further into middle age

Dear lord, I feel frightfully grown up!

And also frightfully cold. Am sitting here typing with fingerless mittens on and feeling like I should be being more organised about Christmas. I think one of the signs of being an adult is that you no longer look forward to Christmas with unadulterated excitement but also start to dread it. I refuse to go that far, but signs of the 'it's such a faff' feeling are starting to make themselves felt.

Mostly because I unfortunately succumbed to Nik's cold this week. I had felt myself coming down with it last week and successfully fought it off, and went round feeling smug and waxing lyrical about the healing powers of echinacea, zinc, onion soup and sheer bloody-mindedness. I was then cruelly struck down last weekend, limped through to my deadline, decided I would be healthy on Tuesday and do all the things that needed to be done (ordering Christmas decoration kits from ebay, putting finishing touches to presents, learning how to do ribbing so I can make gloves and hats etc, writing cards, buying paint and making the cheapie recycled brown paper I'm wrapping things in more exciting, etc etc) and felt distinctly unhealthy on Tuesday after all. My eyes were streaming, as per usual, and I couldn't actually see to focus on anything long enough to read, knit, write cards, cross stitch, look at the computer etc etc and consequently I spent the day either in a foul mood or asleep.

On Wednesday, I dragged myself to London very much against my better judgement to put in an appearance at the Sustain Christmas party. After a couple of glasses of local, organic cider in a plastic container that could be returned to the producer, I suddenly felt much better, and found myself on the penultimate train home and crawling into bed at 1 a.m. with extremely cold feet.

Yesterday I had a 1950s housewife day, and made carrot cake and used up one of the peculiar joints that we got when we ordered half a lamb. This required excessive quantities of stuffing and slow roasting to make it palatable. I also boned it out myself, which made me feel very thrifty, esp as am now going to make stock! My hero, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, had a very exciting looking recipe, but it involved storing things overnight in jam jars, so I refrained from going down that road.

My garden is full of pigeons and a grey squirrel. Vile, southern, urban wildlife. Had a fox once, too, that came right up to the window. Have pathological fear of urban foxes, creepy unnatural things that they are. Foxes should not be that tame!

Also had a robin once. I can deal with that! Am quite pleased, in theory, that despite being paved over my garden can still be part of a wildlife corridor. I wonder if I can encourage 'good' wildlife without encouraging ugly, scroungy things though...