Major life event horizons

Me? I'm fine. I wouldn't quite go as far as never better, but my foot has almost repaired itself, Moley's histology was clear, I can walk as far as I like again, and it feels great. Last week I was striding down Cowley Road in the dark and the drizzle, in search of a) paperchain raw material and b) aromatics for preservation purposes (of which more shortly) and feeling... uplifted.

Autonomy is a beautiful thing. I have more invested in it than perhaps I should - which is something I might choose to worry about once I'm done feeling liberated and skippy even though all around me are steeped in seasonal gloom.

But it's not been as simple as that of late. Firmly on the good news side, ex-housemate S has safely delivered Baby Particle, full size (him), full complement of faculties and accoutrements (also him, though she's no more partial than usual), intact perineum (her). All hail womankind for managing something so improbable on a stupefyingly regular basis. It truly is an ordinary miracle.

We were on call to look after Baby Tungsten (henceforth known as Big Boy Tungsten) during the birthing proceedings, so we needed to get special dispensation - or what M calls (from his boarding school days) Per - to go away for the weekend before in order to attend the wedding of L & H. Per was granted, and we headed off to Wales on the Friday night.

And I'm not normally a great one for weddings, but this one was exceptional. The venue was like an upmarket Tudor youth hostel - remote, slightly chilly, roaring open fires, huge scope for conspiracy and improvisation. We hung out in rooms with panelling. We harvested sloes. We bathed in a huge cast iron tub. And of course we celebrated the marriage of the lovely bride and groom.

We came home on the Sunday, relieved to hear that S's waters remained unbroken. But sadly, very sadly, her dad died late that night. It wasn't completely unexpected, he'd been ill for three years, and she'd been up to Lancashire to see him a week before, but still a huge shock. There were a couple of days where it wasn't clear if she would be able to go to the funeral, but the NHS intervened in the form of something called a membrane sweep (don't look it up, it will make you feel ill, but needs must), and baby Particle arrived bang on his due date.

So S and her young man and Tungsten and Particle were all able to head north. And we went too. I was last in that church for S's mum's funeral 12 years ago, and that was incredibly sad because it felt like we were all too young for this to be happening. Her dad was 80, but there was a four day old baby who will never know either of his mother's parents in the congregation, and that was incredibly sad too. But my hat is off to the lot of them. There were tears all round, but it was a good do.

I find myself increasingly fascinated by the art of preservation - I have sloe gin and sambuca, gherkins and beetroot on the go at the moment, and I am hoarding things for a remnant-based art project that M doesn't quite know about yet, or at least hasn't fully acknowledged. I wonder if these things are somehow linked.

joella