This'll be quick -- we have visitors.

Mercury is at its greatest elongation in the east at the moment, making it possible to observe it shortly after sunset, roughly in the same path as the sun. This doesn't happen very often and I've been trying to see the little fucker for two nights now and there's always been cloud cover. Bloody weather.

Not much to report on the home front. We continue to wrestle with chimneys and argue over floor coverings. We have a strange influx of bluebottles/blowflies and I don't understand it. There's a dead bird rotting in the attic probably, but it's a bit creepy and combined with the ongoing mouse situation makes me long for a hermetically sealed box. One with a sofa, TV and remote control.

Hey, there's a note here that would seem to indicate that we've had a phone call from the tax man. Oh brother. I hate that shit.

Oh, and we bought a present for the new son of a friend of ours in Germany and emailed them for their address. When they responded they said that they'd appreciate any present, but please, no cuddly toy. So the little duck with the monogrammed t-shirt can look for another home. Anyone out there called Anton? Thought not.

And, in order to pad this out, I leave you with this seasonal story.

Riding the favourite at Cheltenham, a jockey was well ahead of the field. Suddenly he was hit on the head by a turkey and a string of sausages. He managed to keep control of his mount and pulled back into the lead, only to be struck by a box of Christmas crackers and a dozen mince pies as he went over the last fence.  With great skill he managed to steer the horse to the front of the field once more when, on the run in, he was struck on the head by a bottle of sherry and a Christmas pudding. Thus distracted, he succeeded in coming only second, but immediately went to the stewards to complain that he had been seriously hampered.