1. While Bettany is napping Alec and I make gingerbread biscuits using the recipe from my cousin's handwritten cookbook. The paste is a delight to work with, fine and soft with a wonderful smell of treacle and Christmas. We eat quite a lot of it raw. The earlier batches are a little puffy (but some gingerbread is soft) though our later batches are crisp and thin enough to make me feel very proud.
2. In my clear-out I discover a long unopened box, just a small one, of trinkets and junk from my time at university. A torn wristband for the college ball; a couple of corks from my 21st birthday Champagne. A programme and a ticket for a concert. Junk, to be thrown out the moment I die. But each item makes my brain replay a few vivid memories: my legs stung by nettles in the botanic gardens after the ball; the corks hitting the high ceiling of our third year house; my acute embarrassment at hearing my own lyrics sung at the concert (and the composer saying they were easy to sing).
3. To whisk a bag of unwanted toys away to the charity shop -- and to enjoy the space created by a re-arranged living room.
