London

It's nearly 10 pm, and I'm sitting at Clarissa's computer in Brook Green wondering why I am not cross-eyed from jet-lag. Our flight was delayed two hours at Newark, then we were somewhere south of Greenland by the time the crew got around to doling out the aluminum trays of curry; add the fact that I just don't fit into airline seats and I got the equivalent of about two 20-minute naps last night. Yet here I am, perkily typing away after everyone else has gone to bed. Dinner this evening with Clarissa, John, Adam and Granny Wendy. (That was after Granny Wendy, Kerry and I had put our heads together over tea and Christmas cake and finished the crossword). Poor Isobel is not here: having been admitted to hospital with a nasty rash, she only got masses of antibiotics instead of mince pies for dessert. Activities galore planned for the next couple of days - we just hope Isobel recovers enought for Christmas.