I haven't been well.  On Sunday I had cystitis which, by mid afternoon, had turned to blood in my wee, and by evening a bit of wee in my blood, and a whole world of pain.  So off to A&E who were good enough to supply sympathy (really!) and antibiotics.  And a diagnosis of roaring kidney infection

So I've been phenomenally tired.  I have slept a good 18 hours, each of the last 4 days.  And still I could sleep.

Today, though, I have taken a bona fide day off sick.  It's quite sunny, outside my bedroom window, with a slight (chilly) breeze.  I thought I'd be brave, and *do* something, so I went and made a block of the red quilt.  And got two more blocks three pieces together.  Once they're finished, that's the end of the piecing for that quilt, I think - just some sashing to do and it can all be slung together (oh no!  I've just remembered the block I don't like, which will have to be remade.  But that should be straightforward).  The problem is, I have no idea how I want to quilt it.  Quilt it??  I have no idea how I want to back it!!  I have a vague notion that black and white might be nice, with the usual row of scrappy pieces, but I can't find any black and white fabric that's mostly white....  Any pointers gratefully received (any evidence of readers at all, actually!)

So then I fancied toast.  With marmite.  But there's no bread, so I wandered into town, and provisioned us.  And came home and felt tired, so have been in bed ever since.

I really want to crochet, but if I start anything new with the red quilt still incomplete, there might be trouble.  I have my eye on the babette blanket.  And there's an impending baby at work who could use a little crochet blanket like Joe's...

I'm watching some workmen instal a netting roof over the five-a-side football pitch in the park, opposite, and trying to convince myself that the dogs are *only* farting, and there's no need to pad around the house in case that horrid smell has a physical source.  And thinking about going back to sleep...

In the early mornings, I belong to old men.  I leave the house at 6.30 (must remember to bring my insulated mug home), to walk to the station.  The first person I talk to, most days, is the elderly gentleman round the corner who's just taking his dachsunds for a walk.  They are beautiful dogs: miniature, long-haired.  The older one is black, with a delicate curl to her fur and limpid eyes which blend into her coat.  The younger, more excitable one is brown, with black tips.  She's inquisitive and bright, and always thinks she'd like to say hello to me.  After a sniff or two, she remembers I'm a stranger and barks.  Between the impulse and the memory, her owner and I share How Are Yous.

Then, two corners later, there's the singing alarm clock man.  I overtake him and his wife on the final stretch, these days, but they both Good Morning and smile.

Some days, there's an Asian lady, scurrying over the road with a mug of tea, chatting and giggling for a few moments.

Weekends are altogether different.  There's no imperative to get up, but the puppy sneaking onto the bed makes it unpleasant to stay there, and disruptive to fight him off.  So mostly I'm up by 8 at the latest.  Which does constitute a lie in, admittedly.

This morning, coffee and poached eggs and a snuggle on the sofa with my young son.  And here I am, be-dressing gowned, waiting for the bathroom and wondering what to do.  In fact, there's nothing *to* do.  Well, there's a quilt in the making, and a bit of work to finish, but neither of those are speaking to me at the moment.  I suspect I shall browse T K Maxx for a ball dress I don't need until next month, and go to Boots, to find the wherewithal to remove my moustache.  I harbour fantasies of weekends spent in shared endeavour; children and partner and I all wrapped up in mutual delights, and so I can't help feeling a sharp sense of anti-climax at the prospect of shallow, solipsistic mooching.  But the children are of an age where they don't want to be with their parents in public, and the partner doesn't mind sharing the bed with the dog. 

So in the early mornings, I belong to old men, and at weekends I belong to myself.  It's a strange discipline!

Coffee in the morning, when work doesn't beckon me early out of my bed, is one of my favourite times of day.  I am recently re-acquainted with the joys of the Bialetti stove-top coffee maker; and it's fast re-become one of my favourite things.  I can show you it this morning, thanks to a manic splurge of housework at about 9pm yesterday when a couple of friends texted to say could they come for a nightcap, since they were at the restaurant down the road.  Well, of course they could!  Friends always welcome!  But the house was a tip... about 45 minutes later, it was presentable, and I'd even put my makeup on.  And then they texted to say service was slow, and perhaps they'd better go straight home and rescue the babysitters!  Oh well, this morning we reap the benefit of a lovely clean house.

So, another blog.  If it only lasts half as long as the last one - no, I'm not going to link, those of you who know it do, those of you who don't, won't.  Anyway, if it lasts half as long as the last one, that'll be good going.

This will, I suspect, be mostly a rambling about things I'm making.  Which, today, will be chocolate mousse.  But since I haven't got started yet, here are some pictures of the very lovely creatures who inspired the blog name...

 This is Silas.  He's 8.  Or possibly 9.  I'm not so good with chronology.  He is, as you see, a faithful friend - mostly Border Terrier with a little Lakeland throwback, he is the sweetest natured, most obedient dog I have ever known.  Unfortunately, he is also hairy.  Very hairy.  And blonde.  Very, very blonde.  This is not always a good combination of traits.

This is Beano.  He's 8 months.  He is young, and bouncy, and very inquisitive - hence the odd camera angle and mischievous light in his eye.  He is a Lancashire Heeler, and while we love him very much, he has a lot to learn!  Although in the last few days we have made excellent progress with the "not climbing onto Mum & Dad's bed" rule.  *sigh*...

And this is Jip.  We don't know so much about her, as she's a rescue dog.  I got her in 2006, and think she was 8 then, so 12ish now.  We think she's also a Lancashire Heeler - or mostly.  She was a very unsettled dog when she first arrived, but is now sweet natured and loving.  But it was hard work!

And later, there will be chocolate mousse.  Which I'd better get on with!