To the Railway tavern this evening. Great intellectual furore! A debate was going on as to which animal each person present would like to be be if they had the choice. Ronnie wanted to be a cat, George a tick and I opted for a howler monkey, I forget the rest.

We had George and Belinda round last night for supper. It was warm and so we sat out on the back terrace wielding our knives and forks by the light of flaming beeswax. George told us about his early career in cigarette lighters. It seems that in those days there was duty to be paid on cigarette lighters - a hangover from Victorian times when the tax was introduced to protect the match industry. Completed lighters -that is ones which have the flint wheel attached were stored in a bonded warehouse and were visited regularly by customs men to check there was no funny business going on. Now one day George was walking through the warehouse with Ralph Pool, the manager when a stranger came up to him and asked if he was Ralph Pool. George said no and then pointed at Ralph and said but this is Ralph here. Whereupon the stranger leapt on Ralph and said "I'm from the Customs and Excise and I arrest you for avoiding duty on cigarette lighters" and hauled him off.

Apparently Ralph had been assembling his own  of a weekend and significantly, - attaching the flint wheel - and then selling them in Petticoat lane in London.  But an ill wind blows noone as they say. Since an ecological niche had been emptied George moved up into it and became manager and eventually Oberleutnantfuerer of the whole factory. He never looked back after that and was the blue eyed boy.  Belinda then told us a story she'd heard about a famous actress who made an advert. When they showed the top half of her body it was her but when they showed her legs it was someone else's as she had horrible fat legs. Is that miss-selling or what?

I've never planned my life to any great extent; it all just seems to unfold in a messy semi coagulated way somehow. I'm just realising that not everone is like that. I was talking to the bus driver at a service station on the way to Brighton and he was telling me that he, his wife and two kids were off to Las Vegas in two weeks time after which they planned to start work on a third sprog. Start work? Much too clinical and organised for me. I like emerging adhoc from the depths of the sheets on a warm romantic night with the cicadas chirping in the near distance and the smell of rat quorani being wafted around by the ceiling punkah ....  Of course its more adhoc now than in former epocs. You know what I mean. Well it's my birthday soon and I can't help thinking that the last year has been distinctly uninspired. But what to do? Frank reports that he was caught smoking in his council coat and has had a reprimand. He'd nipped behind a wall to light up but the council road sweeping gruppenfuehrer having come up through the ranks himself was wise to all the tricks and spotted him. Three warnings and Frank will be debristled.

The days pass by unnoticed. I was convinced it was Thursday and was shocked to find that Friday had not only already dawned but was past the meridian. I've missed a day somewhere. News flash! I've signed up to do a Beginner's Magic course. First lesson next Monday.

I don't know what I was expecting. Although I knew of course in my heart of hearts that magic was all smoke and mirrors, I realise that I'd also been half hoping that in at least one trick there was something that couldn't be explained by the laws of physics. And that trick where a coin appears behind someone's ear? I had great hopes for that one - its actually done by palming and misdirection! I feel a bit flat.

Isn't the EC wunderschon? (Damn there're no dots on this keyboard. How do I do an umlaut?) What with that and having to press the caps key every time you come to a German noun its a pain in the pinkie. A para or two and I'm half dead with RSI. You can walk from one end of it to the other with the minimum of impertinent officials looking over your shoulder or wondering at the size of your jockeys. My brother and his wife has just set off for the island of Muhu in Estonia. There is a meeting of the Cumbria/Lithuania Wool Weavers. They are having a bash to celebrate the 70th birthday of one of their number. I've been thinking about joining the National Trust and have been exploring local properties preparatory to the actual forking out.. Have you noticed that the good people who work for the Trust all look the same? Or is it just me? The women all have the same hair do while the men are XXL and look like spaniels? What are the chances of that?

Poor old Fred. He's a bit down in the mouth just now. He got into trouble with a woman called Pat who was wearing a name badge. It reminds me of my little spot of bother a few years back. I was on a train going from Switzerland into Germany. There was an attractive girl sitting opposite me in the compartment and she had a small dog sitting at her feet. Sometime during the trip I took out my flask and poured a cup of tea and then cracked open a packet of chocolate digestives. I drank my tea and then decided to give the dog a biscuit. I tried six or seven times but then discovered to my horror that it was not a dog at all but the girl's furry boots. By then she had summoned the conductor who put me off the train at the next stop. All most unfortunate but a lesson in prudence.

9 June The wife had a telephone call from Bonn to say that her sister was unwell and could she come to help out? I managed to get her an immediate  flight on GermanWings. The rain has stopped  and the weather seems to have brightened somewhat.