So, I was trying to work out Facebook, last night.

Anyone know what that’s all about?  I mean, I know you can share things with people, and post messages and all, but it seems to me that it doesn’t do anything that can’t be achieved by email or instant messaging … unless you’re interested in dating random people, and it also seems to me that a lot of effort is put into maintaining barriers between you and ‘random people’, so I have to ask, what’s the point?

It could be that I simply haven’t understood it, and all I need is to be sat down for ten minutes with an expert user.  Or it could be that I’m either the wrong age or the wrong temperament to be on Facebook in the first place, because I don’t see a lot of point in swapping virtual ornaments or pictures from a stock gallery of very small images or becoming a member of a group which doesn’t seem to do anything except post a message on your home page telling everyone that you joined it.  And then there are things which are plain incomprehensible: apparently, I have a Zoosk date card (though I didn’t ask for one) but I’m unlikely to get many flirts, because it doesn’t yet have a picture!  Trust me, I’m less likely to get flirts with a picture than without one - especially right now - but the less said about that, the better.

And then there are the ‘friends’.

Seems there are plenty of people out there with literally hundreds of ‘friends’.  Me, I have eight, one of whom is a member of my family, and only two of the rest actually live in England.  Mind you, my US friends are all the sort who would do anything for you, so I would definitely count them as friends, not just ‘friends’.

What’s the difference?  I’m tempted to say that anyone who asks that question has no clue what a true friend is and will propably have to wait until Life teaches them that particular lesson, but let me just say this.

Right now, one of my friends is staying with me.  Despite having two children of her own at home, and being on call waiting for the third to give birth so that she can help out with her grandchildren while their mother recovers, my friend has driven up here to run the hoover round my house, and clean my bathrooms, and take down the Christmas decorations, because she knows OH and I are Not Well.  She won’t take anything for it, needless to say, despite the fact that we are so grateful we’d be willing to pay her agency rates, no question.  She says how about sixpence?

So now I’m off to rifle through the dusty recesses of the drawers and glory holes, looking for a good old-fashioned silver sixpence - the sort formerly known as a tanner.  It will amuse all of us to ‘pay’ her with that - and who knows?  One day it may actually be worth something.

Should I tell you that this year has not begun well?  I suspect that the title up there is enough to give you a hint, but no, 2009 has so far not been a lot of fun.

The first thing, I suppose, going all the way back a month or two,  was losing our cleaning lady to a full-time job.  Tracey was a treasure, and kept our house looking good by doing the heavy work for us each week.  In all honesty, I can’t blame her, but we still call her Traitor Tracey, albeit in a vaguely humorous way, because it has proved impossible to replace her.  I dunno, I thought we were in a recession, and there’d be impecunious housewives and pensioners falling over themselves to earn a few extra quid, but so it has not proved.  The house is a tip.

One reason for that, of course, is that I’m still one-armed following my shoulder surgery, and unable to lift more than a box of tissues or a few packs of Hall’s Soothers … but that brings me to the next reason: I have caught the most hideous virus from one of my sons.  He didn’t mean to infect me, of course, bless his heart.  He’s been coming round to cook for us and help out, since I was incapacitated.  But infect me he did, and now I’m forcibly reminded of poor Geri Atric each time I suffer a paroxym of coughing which leaves me feeling as if some bastard has been beating me around the ribs with a piece of two-by-four, giving particular attention to the area around my right shoulder.  Oh, yeah, and now Mr Yellow Swordfish is coming down with it, too.

Losing our beautiful Princess Renie in such a traumatic way on the 30th December was truly awful.   It will take me some time to get over it, as those of you who have ever loved and lost will understand.  But you’ve heard all about that, and I will say no more, because I don’t want to wallow or bring you all down with me.

And what does Woman do, when confronted by misery?  Why, she eats, of course!  And the traditions of the festive season, combined with forced inactivity have done their devious work, and I’m 100% sure I won’t be able to get my jeans back on when I get my arm back and can start wearing things with zips and buttons again.

So. The Only Way Is Up!  Let’s list the good things!!

1  Eventually, we will find ourselves a new cleaning lady.  I’m guessing there’ll be a little rash of ads any time now, as families compare income with outgoings, with special reference to recent expenditure seen in juxtaposition to school clothing demands and holiday plans.

2  In less than two weeks, I can lose the sling.  Yay!!  The shoulder is a lot more comfortable already, so hopefully it has healed well, and I can start to get back to normal.

3  As hard as it is to imagine right now, Mr YSF and I will recover.

4  The Pirate is coping well with the loss of his companion, and given a week or so, will do well as an only dog.  He actually seems to feel he needs to fill her shoes, and is being remarkably affectionate, considering the salty old sea dog that he is.  But he’s not clingy, he’s eating well, wagging his tail, and enjoying his walks - and he’ll stop checking the beds for her soon, because he’s philosophical like that.

5  New Year’s Day was actually a good day, despite everything, because the Contaminated Son brought his Italian girlfriend round to cook dinner for us, and she was not put off by my leper act (”Unclean! Unclean!”) at all.  She is irrepressively cheerful, and very sweet and funny, and they cooked us Cotechino with polenta and spinach, and a dish of lentils with bacon, which was very tasty indeed.  And they achieved the nearly impossible, and made me laugh. However, she refused to let me take pictures of her dainty self lifting my son bodily into the air across her back - a pity, I’m sure you’ll agree.  He is nearly six foot tall, and no lightweight.

6  Unlike many, we still have our home.  Unlike many, we are still solvent.  We have enough for our needs without having to worry too much.

7  Our sons are good, honest, hard-working people, and both have a great sense of humour, and actually seem to like us - even if they do think we’re mildly insane.  We can live with that.

8  There are things to look forward to.  First, getting back into the saddle - literally - as soon as I have the go-ahead from my surgeon, then we have a couple of trips planned.  I guess the one to the US for the premiere of Public Enemies is dependent on what shape The Pirate is in by then, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

So I’m going for glass-half-full mode.  Apparently, Northern Italians eat Cotechino prepared with polenta, spinach, and lentils on New Year’s Day to bring prosperity and luck.  Clearly, things will start to get better!

Here’s to 2009!

It is with enormous sadness that I must tell you that a light has gone out of our lives.   Our beautiful Princess is no more.

She was put to sleep this afternoon when an MRI scan revealed an inoperable tumour in her neck, which had infiltrated the bone of her spine, compressing the nerve, and causing her tremendous pain.  I was so hoping that it was just the disc injury we had been treating her for, but it was not to be.  Yesterday she went downhill rapidly, screaming at the slightest movement, and an emergency appointment was requested for a neurological consultation at Davies veterinary specialists.  By the time we got there, the only thing which would control her pain was methadone.

The Princess raced under the name of Lovely Irene, and was known to her friends and family as Renie.  She had an impressive pedigree, but she embraced retirement without a backward glance.  When we took her over the fields off lead, she didn’t run much, preferring always to walk at heel, close to one of us - or better yet, between us.  She was the sweetest, gentlest, most affectionate dog I’ve known, utterly bombproof with people, though not averse to putting strange dogs in their place if they got too close to her Pirate.

As you know, she was a much-loved PAT Therapy dog, and I now have the task of ringing her clients to give them the bad news, and notifying the charity itself that she is no longer with us.   Not a task I look forward to, because my eyes are already raw from weeping, but it must be done.

My poor, poor Princess Renie.  She simply did not deserve to die like this.  Born on the thirteenth of December in Ireland in 1998, she left us on the 30th December this year, at only ten years old.

Goodbye, Princess. You lit up our lives - and the lives of many disabled people.  You were our floozy, our ‘people dog’, our lazy, soft, loving and lovable darling.

We really miss you, sweetheart.

Every year, our friends and relatives are kind and generous enough to shower us with gifts of various kinds for Christmas.  As a family, we have a kind of ’spread your cash around’ policy, which means that we can get up to a dozen packages from one person - the philosophy being that it’s fun opening packages, and the more the merrier, even if it means one might contain - just for example - a vintage plastic cocktail stirrer worth about 40p, or a homemade bookmark.

So, you can see that the title of Most Bizarre Gift might be hotly contested in this house.

But each year, a box arrives from Maryland which we know will raise the bar another notch.  A box from my good friend Jeannine.  And this year was no exception.

Jeannine’s boxes are always a lot of fun to open, and we tend to save them till last, when everyone else’s gifts are lying in a sea of torn paper and we can all enjoy the experience to the full.

There were many amusing and interesting things in the box this year, including a bright green and fluffy moray eel, which The Pirate duly killed - and very efficiently too, but not until it had managed to smack him in the ear.  I’m not sure quite what kind of noise it was supposed to make, but … well … it doesn’t do it anymore.  Smacking pirates in the ear really pisses them off, you know.

There were some ‘real’ gifts too, of course.  There was a lovely ceramic Sarah Snavely pendant for me, and for OH, a gorgeous silver swordfish - and a beautiful cheeseboard, also some unique and interesting odds and ends, like the pirate design fabric stemware coasters, and the Colts and Raiders travel tissue holders.

But even taking into account gifts from everyone, including the undead skeleton finger puppets, the magnetic ‘make a pirate scene’ game for ages three and up, and the temporary pirate tattoos*, the scary nutcracker Jack Sparrow, and the book about being eaten by sharks, I think this takes the biscuit.

So thanks, Jeannine, for helping to make Christmas a lot of fun this year.  We love you!

*Yes, I will be using them.  Wanna make something of it?