I assume

you all caught the Cobblers on Sky sports playing Brentford on Monday night?

What do you mean you had something better to do?? I do not comprehend that answer.

Any way, Reidski was kind enough to watch it with me although he is not especially discerning when it comes to watching football on tele (he will watch ANY football on tele). We played really well in total contrast to how we usually play when we are on tele.We normally play embarrassingly badly when we are on tele and then I have to put up with abuse and sympathy in roughly equal measures from people who can't understand why on earth I would actually pay to 'watch that rubbish'.

Not Monday though when we turned on a certain amount of - dare I say it - style. We went ahead through a beautiful goal scored by a defender) and never really looked like conceding a goal after that but bitter experience of this (and many other) season (s) meant I was a nervous wreck until the final whistle. We have been playing really well most of this season, and still keep managing to lose.

So anyway, after watching that, watching The Last King of Scotland in Camden last night was really relaxing. Or at least it was until the last half hour or so when I could hardly bear to watch as I was so frightened for James McAvoy's character.

Afterwards Reidski and I had a lovely Greek mealhere where I made an important discovery. Retsina is nice. For the past 30 years I have been under the impression it was vile - but that may have something to do with an excessive drinking session in Mykonos many years ago.

I came home on a crowded train. If you were on that crowded train - perfectly possible - most of the world's population seemed to be on it- I was the mad woman shaking with laughing at her book. I am reading 'Mother's Milk by Edward St Aubyn. A five year old is listening to Margaret - a nanny- and his father having this exchange during a stay in Provence.....

'Ooh, it's that hot,' said Margaret fanning herself with a knitting magazine. 'I couldn't find any cottage cheese in Bandol. They didn't speak a word of English in the supermarket. "Cottage cheese" I said, pointing to the house the other side of the street, "cottage, you know, as in house, only smaller," but they still couldn't make head or tail of what I was saying.' 'They sound incredibly stupid,' said his father,'with so many helpful clues.'

It is a very funny book.