The Small Pleasures

seeing Drummerboy at weekends when he brings home his washing

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Dorothy Sayers in particular and detective stories in general

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walking in the forest next to the chateau

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an uninterrupted night's sleep

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raspberries

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Porridge chasing her noisy squeaky plastic chicken leg round the living room

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cheeky monkeys (head massages)

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my gospel singing group clapping their hands in rhythm exactly on the beat (2 and 4 of course!) and singing the phrase exactly right

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fresh eggs from the chooks

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wandering about internet finding new blogs and new music and friends

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watching low brow tele with Darling D on a Saturday night, and cheering as creepy crawlies land on creepy "celebrities"

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my autist students literally capering about because they are pleased to see me

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tasting another of Mysweet's cooking experiments

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drinking from the glass that my Dad engraved rather shakily with our family's initial. I was the last of the line before I married, and now no-one has that name that I know of as my relation...