Anya and I play “Who has more teeth?” I think I win. Imagine the even greater degree of victory I’d have had if I hadn’t had a dental altercation with the metal bar of a seesaw as a kid.

I remember going over the handle, I remember my friend being worried I’d broken my glasses and I remember returning home and not giving Dad any clue as to what had happened before grinning wildly at him with my front teeth now missing two big half moons.

Good times.

I of course completely failed to get any pictures of myself at the party, so this shot of me and Clara comes courtesy of Ray, or rather the relative upon whom his camera was thrust while he was tripping the light fantastic. This photo was taken during the first dance. I’d decided to be careful, so as not to completely break myself into pieces and so just took part in the first set. Which was quite enough. Suzy summoned me onto the dancefloor as couples gathered and then promptly dumped me for the apparently better offer of Clara’s father. It became clear a couple of steps in that a threesome with Lauren and Helen wasn’t going to work and I was in need of a partner of my own, so Clara gallantly stepped in and we whirled around together.

From then on I mostly watched the fun from behind my camera, though I don’t pretend to have taken any masterpieces on this evening. People moving really fast in a dark room plus an aversion to using flash doesn’t really add up to crisp photos. I need to go to more parties where people sit still in brightly-lit rooms.

Or at least do the sitting still part. When not dancing we took a break in the next room and discussed important matters such as the business plan for Dave’s Awesome Cakes, Dave’s great idea, which would stand next to Helen’s funeral home. And they’d be affiliated with each other and would offer Wake Cakes.

Spot the ballroom dancer. And her extended pinky. Suzy danced all but one set that night and consequently could barely move when she and I met up the next night to plan our holiday for this year. (Booked!)

There was a good range of splashes of tartan that night: sashes, shirts, trousers, skirts and hats. Even a pair of tartan-framed glasses appeared.

This is Ray’s authentic kiltage and sockage on display. The tartan is that of Cornwall, Ray’s home county. I’m used to red stripes in things like flags symbolising the blood shed for independence or something, but the red stripe here is for the beak and legs of the national bird, the chough. How peaceful.

Carrot cake for birthday cake? Pfft, what craziness is this? In my book if it makes any contribution towards your five a day, it’s not cake.

One of the best bits of the evening was seeing those who had been reluctant to dance (Dave. Steve.) finally out on the dancefloor having a whale of a time, smiling, laughing and dosey-doe-ing. Especially when the latter move got a bit fraught when going across the diagonal.

The dances were taught and led by caller Mike, who was great fun. I approve of the idea of a caller, which means you only have to sort of remember what you’re doing. Forgetting isn’t the disaster it could be in say, the National Ballet, as he’s right there with the next instruction.

When not telling us what to do Mike would join the band on percussion. I rather naïvely hadn’t even expected live music, so turning up to the venue and finding a live band was great. Family friend and bandleader Rob played the fiddle, guitar and mandolin and Paul played Northumbrian pipes and the melodion.

One of the last dances was Lady Godiva, of which I have already posted video footage. The moment I’d turned my video camera on, the battery symbol was flashing red at me, so I’m glad it made it through to the end and got Lauren and Dave at the end of the line. And that reminds me: I should charge the battery.

This was the first and last time Steve stood to his full height during the Stripping the Willow dance. He soon learned that it was safer to bend down and not be a nuisance if he didn’t want to be decapitated when the dance got up to speed!

It was a fine evening and one that I think suited Suzy down to the ground – music, dancing and flailing about and everyone having a great time.

Anya and Lily sort of standing up, with minimal leaning on the sofa and a lot of applause – from both themselves and their audience.

It turns out that the flower bulb I was given for my birthday is a hippeastrum. How do I know this? Well, thanks to Ray I knew it would be an amaryllis or hippeastrum, so when it flowered on new year’s day (what show-off timing) I knew what to google.

The flower is a Butterfly Lily and now has two open blooms, with long stamens that dusted my head with pollen when I lifted the plant from my desk to the table to photograph it.

Now I need to get back to Google and find out what the hell to do with the bulb when the flowers give up on me. If I remember correctly, I need to hide it in a box and forget about it. When it’s ready, it’ll come and get me, right?

A few days after I last blogged the avocado’s progress, I followed the given advice and nipped out the top leaves. The idea being that the avocado now focuses its energy less on the growing long and spindly side of things and more on the work of getting a bit bushier.

I’m not sure the avocado had read the same website as me though. The remaining leaves have just grown bigger and bigger, with little sign of new leaves thickening things up a bit. I think that the tiny leaves on the side may have grown a little, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Evidently we’ve entered into another slow-mo phase, similar to the very first six weeks it took for the stone to sprout.

Or those leaves are plotting to take over the world. Stay alert.

That’s what happened to me.

And then morning came and so did the rain. And I looked out of the window at the drizzle/pouring rain, my good hair day resting unsuspectingly on my shoulders, and I thought to myself, “Well, that damn woman’s going to want to go on the walk anyway, so you’d better get used to the idea.” And then she turned up and, yes, we went for the planned walk.

Despite having passed Knole Park maaaany times in my life, always craning to see if any deer can be seen from the road, I’ve barely been into the park and I’m pretty sure I’ve not seen the house before. To get from the car park to the park we had to walk down a steep and very muddy walkway and then finally we were out into the open parkland and the rain went to work on frizzing up our hair and working its way through my coat. But it was fun. The rain doesn’t really bother me now that I wear contact lenses and it no longer affects my ability to see. Sure it was kinda wet and a bit cold, but it all gets outweighed by the smugness one feels at going for a calorie-burning walk at the very start of the year. Hey, look at us, aren’t we virtuous and awe-inspiring?

In fact, after burning off all those calories – most of them on the return journey back up the steep and very muddy path – we had no option but to drive into town and have a long lunch at Café Rouge. Suzy had a croque madame, while I had a delightful little baguette with hummus, spring onion and roasted red pepper. Both dishes also came with a side of the best fries ever. My shunning of the usually employed ketchup is surely a sign of their magnificence.

See how this post started with a healthy walk and ended on a pile of salty fries? Yes, my thighs do too.

We have an occasional visitor to the garden who has a rather unusual beak. This long-beaked sparrow turns up from time to time in the crowds of sparrows who feed on the seeds hung from the laburnum in the front garden.

Despite the excessive length of the top half of his beak, he seems to have no trouble at all taking seed from the feeder and drops no more seed while doing so than any of the others do. He seems healthy enough, so I can only imagine he’s not particularly affected by it – and he can certainly stand his ground at the feeder.

Interestingly, my uncle showed us photos of a sparrow with a deformed beak on Boxing Day too, though it’s not as long as this one. A quick google also shows up reports from all over the place of not just sparrows with deformed beaks – and a bevy (or should that be “a hide?”) of ornithologists trying to work out why it’s happening.

The girls have always had very strong legs and love to stand – which is great when you’re putting frilly-bottomed tights on them, but not so good when you’re trying to get them to bend their legs so you can sit them down. Propped up on the sofa, Anya had a wonderful time standing up, trying to catch Daddy’s tickly hand.

Anything close enough to be grabbed – which is a lot of stuff, as they have a surprising reach – still goes into the mouth for detailed inspection. Toys, paper, Mummy’s new apron, Aunty Doow’s hair, it all needs to be chewed.

The babies will fix you with a somewhat disconcerting stare from time to time if you’re doing something particularly interesting, such as … holding a mug, or sitting on the floor. It takes them a few minutes to get used to being in a new place, so when they arrived, they sat for a while on their parents’ knees and stared expressionlessly at those gathered before them who were trying to make them smile – and who eventually won.

Anya’s tongue spent a lot of time being poked out at people that afternoon.

The babies are getting a bit grabby now and sometimes this is a hilarious game of tug of war with gift ribbon and sometimes it’s a matter of just swiping whatever your sister is holding from her hands and chewing on it yourself.

As if to continue the twin theme, the girls seem to need something in each hand; one thing is rarely enough. So Lily made a racket with her new jingle sticks and Anya joined the percussion with the two maracas, occasionally getting a bit over-enthusiastic and nearly bopping Nanna on the head with them.