The lawn: it's never been so frosty! Ever since I hacked at my grass we've had the deepest of deep frosts and since it's a north facing lawn it doesn't always warm up during the day. Mrs W said that "The house at the end has a very green lawn so why don't I ask them how they do it?" Pride well and truly besmirched I retorted with "My lawn is the best on the entire estate normally and it only started to go funny on me at the end of last summer as the new seed I sowed failed to take and the weedkiller that I applied killed the weeds, the grass and the *$!??*@ soil." So what's a chap to do? I will have the best lawn again, never fear, even if I have to returf the thing. It's only a small patch and if Chelsea football club can returf their entire football pitch in the middle of January, I'm sure I can do the same come the Spring. DW

Here's a thing: any electricians or radio hams out there? The other day I was in the kitchen listening to the radio and blethering with Dima when I picked up the kettle so that I could fill it and then make a cup of tea. As soon as I'd got the kettle away from its base the radio went funny. I thought, that's odd, and put it back: the radio sorted itself out. I picked up the kettle again to test it and again the radio went funny. This evening whilst attacking a pile of vegetables as I attempted to convince them that they ought to be a decent curry, I tried to fill the kettle again and again the radio went all skew whiff on me. This only happens with Radio 4, all other, inferior, stations being immune; and kettle and radio are about 1 metre apart. Any answers?? DW

At last here are a couple of snaps from my Dorchester sojourn! A Cob wall: what's a Cob wall? Well, you can see that it's thatched for a start and why would one thatch an ordinary wall? The story is that in the days when bricks were scarce, people would use cob to construct walls, houses and the like. Cob is a mixture of straw and earth all pounded together to form a paste that they then use to render the wall. Since Cob's not that stable in the rain, they thatch the top of the wall for protection and there you are. More historical excellence from you know who! The Toll House at the Abbey. A hexagonal hip roof for you! Notice the way the windows point in two directions: to see the traffic coming from left and right. The bridge that carried the toll in days of yore is to the right as we look at this picture. The bridge that's there now is a nineteenth century monstrosity: not Victorian gothic tripe but just a very plain old thing. Apparently the toll house has been a sweet shop in its time as well as being a toll house; and at the moment I am reliably informed it is owned by an architect! Hope you enjoyed these snaps! DW

I took a risk after we got back from Wantage: I mowed the lawn! I was sick and tired of looking at my tired and bedraggled lawn so even though the weather's cold and not ideal for lawn maintenance, I mowed it. I did it roughly overall but after I'd finished I felt a lot better. I then washed the car with icy cold water and sponge. I went in search of car shampoo but Mrs W informed me that I (that's me, myself and NOT, most definitely NOT, her) had thrown the bottle away when I had FINISHED it. Piffle! So, it's got the muck off but it still needs more cleaning. Then there's the mud inside the vehicle, too! Dima wore a pullover on Saturday night that showed off his athletic looking figure rather well. I said, why can't I have a pullover like that: to enahance and show off my physique in the same way. This is true: it turns out I was wearing exactly the same style of pullover as Dima but whilst his is burgundy mine is very dark grey. Oh! I then concluded that my pullover has either been hideously stretched or they got the design wrong and that's why I look like a sack of spuds!! Anybody want to see the proof? Can't win, eh? DW

Out and about again, folks! This time, Dima and I went rummaging around Wantage: an old and well establish small town around 8 miles or so from where we live. Looking at the Ordnance Survey map before we went out, we found lots of "Gallops": not knowing why, we sallied forth. We were also looking for evidence of the age of settlements from the maps, how things that were green and speckly on the map looked in real life, how contours panned out in reality. The gallops are for racing horses. Newbury race course in near by and we came across the Valley of the Racehorse with all of these gallops in it. Interesting to see something I'd never even thought of before but it makes perfect sense once you've realised what's happening! The villages around Wantage, Letcombe Bassett, Lambourn and so on are all old and well established. Whilst some of the properties were a bit cheaper than I thought they might be, they were still expensive. It's also still the case that there are many 15th, 16th and 17th century working men's cottages that are now inhabited by very wealthy people. So the cottage that your great, great, great, great grandparents lived in as they tilled the soil or hew stones and drew water from is now occupied by an architect or an accountant or a race horse trainer and he's paid £500,000 for it! There is a very attractive Alms House building in Lambourn: it has a central water well, too, just like the better maintained Alms Houses in Ewelme. We found a new Dobbin: remember the sad looking, old horse we found in January? We found two lithe, younger horses this time and as we ran towards them shouting "Dobbin, Dobbin!", they hurtled towards us with love and affection in their eyes. We talked across a gap between two fences, barbed wire attached to one of them; but the mint I held out to them didn't hold enough attraction for them. They were nervous, perhaps skittish and they wouldn't take the bait! Our short lived but intense relationship was smashed when some aging mountain bikers stopped 5 yards away from us as they plotted their route: maps in hand, bikes between their thighs and loud voices spewing from their mouths. Who knows what Dobbin and I could have gone on to achieve? We drove along the Ridgeway: a dirt track that was wet and a bit uneven. Reminded me of some of the easier driving I did in Malawi. The Beemer coped though. Every time I got out of the car mud seemed to fly at the soles of my shoes and firmly attach itself there. Even when I took the time to wipe it off with sticks, grass, gate posts, the small step between clean and mud caked was simply never far enough. Have some cleaning to do today. DW