This, mes petits choux fleurs, is amongst the coolest gifts I have ever been gifted.  "Why is that?"  I hear you cry.  Well just look at it!  It's a Billy Bragg (I don't want to change the world, I'm not looking for a New England, are you looking for another girl?) autograph!  Not only is it a Billy Bragg autograph, but it's a Billy Bragg autograph written on an SWP leaflet, and collected at the Make Votes Count rally outside The Work Foundation this very afternoon.  How perfect is that?  Only very perfect!  How many years does that take you back?!  And who would give me such a perfect gift? Well, only my beloved who chose to go and rediscover his activist youth, this afternoon.  Yes, he went in search of his youth and he found Billy Bragg.  So many metaphors...

I am going to frame it, and hang it in my office, thereby firmly establishing my credentials-by-proxy.

So we went to Epsom, yesterday, to the family party.  It was one of those large events, 50 odd guests, designed to show how well my father is coping with my stepmother's new circumstances (mobility issues, dementia, high dependency and so forth), so high on emotion, tension, and stress.  It went remarkably well, but poor Dad was really struggling.

Lots of lovely people there, though - my favourite aunt and uncle; my sister, her husband and two small nephews; the dotty next door neighbour. 

In other news, a friend writes "am sure you must have more hours in your day than anyone else - which isn't fair!  Or perhaps you don't waste as much time 1) drinking 2) watching mindless tv 3) shouting at small children 4) drinking!"  So you might like to know, friend of mine, that I am sitting in front of The Daily Show (Global Edition), with a glass of wine beside me and the laptop on my lap, arguing with Daisy about whether she can stay up a bit later if she uses the time to have a shower or whether bedtime actually means bedtime NOW.  I'm just very practised at looking sober in type...