Epiphany saw the now traditional gathering of the clan for a meal, exchange of gifts and then the stripping of the decorations to mark the end of the Christmas season. With three sons now well over 6ft and a fourth heading that way fast, this is rather easier than putting up the trimmings, which usually involves me and a kick stool in some precarious acrobatics. This year we had eldest son's fiancée and penultimate son's girlfriend to swell the crowd and help us get through enough food to nourish a small village, and a modest mountain of chocolates and toffees. 
Term started well, but rapidly became demanding as my closest colleague became too ill to work, leaving me to assume her teaching, marking and some of her admin duties into my own workload. It's essential she takes enough time off to recover fully, and colleagues and associates have given freely of their time and energies to help keep the wheels running smoothly. I've found it tiring, and the extra time I have to spend completing the work inevitably impacts also on the boys, who are getting used to my spending evenings with the laptop and a pile of marking as soon as dinner is over.
The big news since my last entry is an addition to the household. Shortly after Christmas, a routine visit to the GP uncovered a problem with my blood pressure that required addressing urgently. Additional exercise seemed to be a solution, but I'm not really a gym person, and I spend too much having my hair dyed to risk turning it green with regular visits to the swimming pool. The search for something more congenial led me to consider when I last took regular daily exercise, and this provided a most happy solution. When I last had a dog, two daily walks were part of normal life. So we decided to get a dog.
We were very lucky to find the perfect animal very quickly. A phone call to the local Springer Spaniel Rescue identified a few possibilities, and one drizzly, windy afternoon, daughter and I went and walked a few of them round a muddy field as a wonderful lady talked us through their history - where known - and individual foibles. I fell in love with Bertie at first sight.
He's a seven-year old neutered liver and white male, and, paperwork completed, we went back at the weekend to fetch him. Introducing him to the cat was uncomplicated - the cat spat and hissed and Bertie ignored her, with the chivalry of a gentleman who politely overlooks a lady companion's inebriation. He settled in as if he'd been here all his life, and we were delighted to discover that he answers to commands, comes to call, and behaves impeccably indoors and out, on the lead and off. If I wanted any confirmation that he's given us his love, it came when I was away overnight last week, and he greeted me on my return with unrestrained adoration and frantic affection. 
My other source of such loving attention has been as busy as I over the last couple of months, and we've only managed one day together, but it was enormous fun and well worth waiting for. I was allowed to drive his classic car - one of the items on my "list of things to do before I die". Once the present rush is over, we hope to spend a little more time in one another's company. It's been a year now - and a good one too.
