The Golden Child will be two at the end of this month, and I am sewing doll's clothes. When Golden Child gets dressed in the morning, the doll has to get dressed too, and a girl can soon run out of clothes at that rate. Sewing is one of those things that I like to do in spite of not being much good at it, and the sewing machine and I don't necessarily get on, but the Golden Child isn't that fussy. It also gives me the chance to go into a delightful little shop that sells all things needlework and buy ribbons, braid, buttons - if you're a bloke reading this it will make no sense at all. Sorry about that. For the dressmakers, all this dolly's garments are hand-hemmed.
She may just be little now, but playing with dolls fired my young imagination, and she may be a story teller in the making. My dolls didn't just change their clothes and have tea parties. They rode horses, fought off witches, rescued each other, and got so dirty they could only be cleaned with scouring powder.
The hole in the garden remains more or less as it was. I may have to consult an expert about how it got there and whether the house will fall into it. Up to now nobody has fallen in or out, which is a good thing.
And as you must be dying to know - Tony Archer is miserable and has fallen out with Jenny, Brian has fallen out with Adam, and nobody likes Clive Horrobin.
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