Potatoes & Biscuits

Am enjoying The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, somehow I thought it would be twee and precious but it is refreshing and funny. Still, my favourite line from Christmas reading so far has been from Mr Gum and the Biscuit Millionaire, which I have been reading to my nephews: Some of the seagulls smoked cigarettes and had tattoos on their wings.

Herta Müeller

Herta Müeller is quite fabulous. I saw her interviewed on More4, in a programme about Nobel prize winners. I already have The Land of Green Plums and can't wait to start it. Pinter was transfixing, but I didn't see all of him, I had to sleep. He could have looked fragile, wheelchair-bound with a blanket over his knees, but the power of his words was simply arresting.

Coincidence

I had a vile headache yesterday, I was in and out of bed all day. I listened to Night Waves, they discussed a modern version of Molière's Le Misanthrope which is on in London just now, I would love to see it. After the radio programme, I had Tartuffe in my head - though I studied L'Avare and Le Malade Imaginaire at uni, but for some reason Molière always makes me think of Tartuffe. Today, the postman knocked with some cards, and a package containing a wee jar of tartufi, sent by a friend in Rome. I love these tiny coincidences.

Snow

We have snow, not quite Miss Smilla, but a nice covering.

Gutted

I remember the year I knew Santa Claus wasn't real: I was nine or ten (these were days of innocence, you believed in magic into late childhood). I was gutted and felt envious of my brothers, who still believed. I got a funky red record player - it was like a big box - and Rod Stewart's single 'Sailing'. I couldn't enjoy my presents. The magic was gone, really gone.

Goody two shoes

Still recovering from Ricky and Natalie's Argentine tango on Strictly. Fabulous. I hope they win, though she seems a bit of a cold fish and will probably break his heart. While I find Ali and Brian hopelessly saccharine and boy-and-girl-next-door-goody-two-shoes, I would've much preferred to see them in the final rather than wee cheerful, chipmunky Chris, who just looks like a trying too hard schoolboy on the dance floor. Oh, and Darcey's jive wasn't bad.

Broken

I would prefer not to have broken my beautiful Danish plate - once upon a time hanging in the hall - but that's what you get when you walk round the flat with eyes closed after eyedrops... I used to love my eyes, now I see them as tiny machines with many things that can go wrong.