As many will know, I have been content to stay at home over the past months, only passing through the front gate four or five times since October. In April, I decided that if I didn’t leave home soon it would become increasingly difficult. The sun was shining, I was getting fed up with trying to walk three miles a day (something I have kept up all year) in a tiny house so, dear reader, I WENT OUT. We had a few lovely walks along the coastal footpath, enjoying the beautiful scenery and getting the required step count up in a painless way.

Obviously seeing the family after six/seven months was a priority. Finding a gap in my ridiculous talk schedule and more to the point a caravan site with vacancies, was a problem. Eventually we managed to book into a site fifty miles from where we wanted to be and not on the ideal weekend. The plan was to see each of my descendants’ families in turn, as there are too many of us to meet altogether. We did the ‘risk assessment’. It seemed low risk, even to my ridiculously risk adverse brain. Virus rates were very low in the area we were coming from and those we were going to. All three bubbles had been minimising social contact. Three of the six adults had had a first vaccine. The news was saying ‘this may be as good as it gets for the foreseeable future’. If I was ever going to see my family in person again now was a good time. We took lateral flow tests – negative. We were socially distantish. With the sort of bad luck that explains why I am so risk adverse, one family member tested positive the day after we saw him. Not, I hasten to add, because he had been rashly heading maskless into crowded places but because he works in a school; the only contact he has had outside his own family. Ironically, his call to be vaccinated came on the same day as his confirmation of his positive status.

Chris and I broke our bubble in order to self-isolate apart, in case one of us had been infected and not the other but our ten days are now up, we’ve both tested negative and we can re-bubble. I have spent the past days cooking for myself. I am genetically programmed to be a non-cook. In my defence I have only burnt two saucepans this week, that’s probably a win with my level of ‘skill’. Who enjoys watching a saucepan to see if there is still water in it? Yes, I do I have a timer on the oven. I might even have been able to dig out the instructions in order to see if I could make it work but saucepans don’t always reach the point of no return at the same rate. I can do the science and realise that it will depend on the temperature on the dial and the amount of water – kind of makes the timer thing a bit hit and miss – in my case usually miss. I must admit that I did resort to salad yesterday – no danger of burning that. So un-carbonised proper cooked food tonight – hurrah!

I decided yesterday that I would resume the near impossible task of seeing what I could find out about the family of my mum’s world war 2 fiancé, an American airman who was killed in action. I have seen and can picture, a photograph of this man, although said photo is no longer in the family album. I have had some wonderful helpers from across the globe but no real results so far. I have very little to go on. He was known as Jimmy Kirby but Jimmy was probably short for James, which could have been his first name, a middle name or Jimmy might have been a nickname. He was likely to have been stationed in south-east England, possibly Warminster. He had an identical twin brother Curtis, or Curt and Jimmy was killed in I think 1944. You have no idea how many potential James Kirby’s there are to choose from. To say nothing of the Kirbys with J as a middle initial. One promising looking Curtis was identified, who had a younger brother James but a photograph of James was enough for me to know that this was not the one I wanted. If there is anyone out there that thinks this rings a bell please get in touch, stranger things have happened.

Mistress Agnes is off to entertain merchants next week, she needs to mind her manners. Guests are welcome if you want to learn about her times.

The great loft clearance has been on hold because crawling around lofts when you live alone and no one is likely to find you for a week if things go horribly wrong is not a great idea (risk adverse see) but it has reached the old toys stage. There are toys from the 1930s, the 1960s and the 1990s to be enjoyed. I may be some time.