HAMMER HOUSE

Yesterday Henderson and I went for a meal in the little restaurant across the road called Vicor. As we were the only ones there, the chef came out and introduced himself and reeled off the menu del dia. After settling for migas and then steak we got stuck into the mystery of where the aborigines in Australia came from. Henderson says that according to Bill Bryson 25 people would have been needed to populate the place and as it was at least 60,000 years ago, 30,000 years before any humans took to the sea, how the hell did they get there? I'm a bit miffed that nobody has come up with an answer especially the aborigines. Is there something they are not telling us? Later the waiter approached us and apologised for the lack of other diners and I decided not to tell him I was delighted that they had all buggered off to the mountains or decided not to eat on account of the credit crisis. It meant a smoke and histrionic free meal.

While on the subject of histrionics it does seem eerily quiet here apart from a few wails from Piti the Priapic Poodle who shall be known as PPP. It is unusual and brings on that feeling when you find yourself muttering 'what are the kids up to?' and then finding them silently making a casserole out of your best jewellery and mud. I am sure if I look hard enough I will find a troupe of Spaniards huddled in a corner with a sack of hammers.

Yesterday was Saint Ambrose who as far as I can tell is the patron saint of bees and candle makers. As a baby he had a swarm land on his face and they left some honey which his father saw as a sign of a greater spiritual calling. I was told that as a child, a neighbour, a delightful old lady on a par with Margaret Rutherford, approached me as I wheeled my pram and asked if she could have a look at my dolly. I said of course, but she was rather shocked when she saw I had filled the pram and packed it down with mud and worms. I rather like the idea of having a saint for prams full of anything but dolls and babies.