The GP is still working on it I have been told. So am I. Nibbling bits of toast and sneaking in a spoon of mango yogurt - time will tell. Dandelion tea as well. I am getting somewhere.

Meanwhile I am lining my stomach with sarcasm and dark humour as the world prepares to gather for my father's 85th birthday on Saturday. There will be speeches, there could be amateur chamber music (please no) and there will be the usual gawking and whispering until the first round of bubbly has been downed. After that we will all be at our best behaviour and pretend to be sophisticated academics or something like that.

We will listen to various versions of my father's grand achievements and we will all pretend that he did what he did without the support of a wife who will not be mentioned. And why should she. After all she is long dead and gone and can no longer mess up the ceremony sitting in the back smoking and tsk-tsking and generally showing off her superiority - before and during getting pissed. In her moody condescending way, she was never a rowdy drunk. No, she could put you down and in your miserable little place after two bottles of vodka just as well as if she'd be sober. Probably even better. But I really don't want to remember.

Maybe my brother and my sister and me will exchange a quick look but who knows, we may actually just have a decent enough time. 

And I will wear my new jeans and a freshly ironed linen shirt. I told him I would not do the black dress thing and he laughed and suggested a warm cardigan instead. 

The buffet dinner will be an adventure and I shall cross that bridge when I see what's on offer.

This series of groundbreaking events will be framed by two long train journeys through possibly snowy landscape, the magical river valley and I will be able to watch it all in silence with R doing his paper work across from me, a couple of BBC podcasts in my ear and who knows, maybe a whole bunch of really weird and interesting people will come my way.