The Boy proposed, the Girl accepted, and we get a daughter - Hooray!! Isn't she lovely? Isn't he gorgeous? We are very happy.

I'm cool - it's official!

Just got back from a brief trip home to see my parents. Mum had been given another pile of old photos from my late Aunt Joy's collection, for me to identify and use in my family tree if required.
I was especially delighted to receive what must be a photo of my late and unlamented gt gt grandfather and his second wife (the Wicked Stepmother of all the accounts handed down by his son from the first, and apparently abused, wife).
I was not so delighted with lovely pictures of Edwardian unknowns, who must be family members, but as my mother didn't know who they were and she is now the oldest representative of that family, look destined to remain unidentified.
We went to view the Autumn exhibition of the Lindsey Art Association whilst I was home. The quality was very varied, but then they are only amateurs. I loved the fact that I was given a voting slip on entry, to vote for my personal favourite - just like the BP portrait exhibition at the NPG. It seems, according to inside sources, that the winner is likely to be Yvonne Storey - an extremely competent artist, but I didn't much care for her sentimental "Bygones" views; I voted for a Norfolk/Suffolk water scene reminiscent of my favourite Constable paintings, but in his own style, by Robert Batchelor.
And here I am home again, to find two invitations from new blog friends, gratefully accepted and ready to play host to a family tree cousin from Canada for the weekend.

Well, what a shocker on Stictly last night! Who would have thought Spoony would be out, instead of one of those two dreadful women? I know you have to leave room to improve, but Georgina Bouzova isn't ever going to be a dancer, is she?
Just goes to show I should have voted.
But it's early days, and I haven't sorted out who's my favourite yet. Possibly Mark Ramprakash amongst the men, but then I like Peter Schmeichel too. And then there's Emma Bunton and Louisa Lytton, lovely dancers both.
Decisions, decisions...

The Queen and I are obviously not destined to meet, even in the person of Helen Mirren on screen. We were going to see the film this week - but as it's on next week but not this, we couldn't.
So we went to see "The History Boys" instead.

A "Dead Poets Society" for gays? We thought it very good and really enjoyed it, although some of the scenes were very stagey - it was obviously a theatre play filmed, but none the worse for that.
The cast was very strong. I particularly liked Frances de la Tour (but then I always do); Samuel Barnett as Posner (who also played Paul in "Mrs Henderson Presents"), and Samuel Anderson's wry but not cynical Crowther.
For me, the Dakin character didn't quite ring true - would such a knowing Lothario really offer a date with Irwin?
And as always with things set over 20 years ago that seem to me to have made the same error (Billy Elliott" springs to mind), I'm not convinced that "fuck" would have been bandied about so freely in a grammar school then.
But apart from that, I reccommend it.

Before you grumpy old men go boring on about Guy Fawkes fireworks starting unneccessarily early this year; Diwali is the Festival of Lights, celebrating the welcome home of Rama and Sita from exile by lighting their way home, and nowadays it usually involves fireworks!
Happy Diwali - may your New Year be prosperous and all you would wish it to be.

As you'll know, I'm a sucker for a wedding; so was delighted to hear recently that our friend David Bignell was preparing to take the plunge again. We attended the post nuptial run with a champagne and Wedding Cake sip stop last Sunday, and were pleased when the Bride and Groom reported a lovely wedding the previous day, with daughters as Matrons of Honour and grandaughters as Bridesmaids and never a hitch in the proceedings.

Here are the happy pair - may they enjoy a long and happy life together!

There was an item on the news this evening about a referee at a children's football match who threatened to call the match off and award the points to the opposing team if one of the Dads didn't stop taking photos of the game, as it violated child protection laws.
Now he may have been over stepping his mark, but it's a fact you can't go taking photos of children with impunity nowadays - you have to get specific parental permission and cut through lots of red tape.
Which is why of the 100 or so children who feature so large in my life the only pictures to appear on here are ones that would be impossible to individually identify.
That's a shame, because I have on my digital camera right now several dozen lovely portraits of our nursery sprogs. This is the time of year when we get them to write their names for the first time; we value their efforts by using whatever they produce as the label on their message pocket - where any letters from school and pictures they make themselves are put to take home at the end of the day. Every morning we empty the drying racks and roll up a couple of dozen artworks to put in the pockets.
And of course, now we can't actually read most of the names on the pockets! So we are busy taking small portrait photos of the children to add to the front of their pocket, to make them easier to recognise. They are so cute, you would love them - even the snotty nosed ones.
But sorry - like the referee, I can't allow it, so you'll have to imagine them...

There's an old story that years ago, when they were young and trendy (??) Prince Charles and Princess Anne teased Her Majesty about her beloved, but ancient and decrepit, tweed suit that she wore year after year on holiday in Balmoral. "Not that old thing again; you must get something new" they chided.
Eventually the Queen gave in and ordered a new set of tweeds - exactly the same as the old ones!
I recalled this story today because we had intended to go and see the film "The Queen"; but because it's already been taken off in Croydon Vue, we have to wait until next week to see it at the Clocktower. So we went shopping instead.
Mainly to start buying Christmas gifts (I can't persuade Ed into the shops after October, as they're "too crowded") but also with a view to purchasing a new casual winter coat for me.
I bought my current coat in Puerto Rico when we lived there, so it's 10 years old now, and quite frankly has seen better days. But I love it. It's a nice sensible taupe colour that doesn't show the dirt, and goes with anything; it's lovely and warm, with a fur edged hood for the worst weather, and it's nice and light to wear.
We were successful in our shopping. We bought six Christmas gifts, a bottle of wine for some friends and a new casual winter coat for me. I'm very pleased with it - it's a nice sensible taupe colour that doesn't show the dirt, and goes with anything; it's lovely and warm, with a fur edged hood for the worst weather, and it's nice and light to wear. I think it will be just fine!

It's that time of year when the Dictionary people try to decide which words have newly entered the language and are in sufficient use to warrant an entry in their next edition.
We had a brand new candidate today, coined by young James. There was a dispute going on in the sandpit about who could and couldn't join in the game.
"Stop arguing!" said one child. "I wasn't arguing," protested James, I was only talkyouing."

"Talkyouing - discussing in a reasonable manner"

It gets my vote!

Well, the [children with] Summer Birthdays came in to nursery yesterday and today. Part 1 came with adult supporters yesterday and stayed without today; Part 2 came with their adults today and stay by themselves tomorrow. They weren't too tearful, although one of my Springs is still giving his mother grief for leaving him every day and one of Irene's Springs is also still wobbly.
All might have been better if two Autumns hadn't squabbled over a book. One showed his displeasure by biting the other, leaving a clear bruise through 3 layers of clothing. We sent the biter home in disgrace - which would have been fine, except the wobbly Spring child who had attached herself to him as best friend and admirer, then went off in floods of tears that she was deprived of her prop and wanted her mummy instead.
Whereupon the Summer birthday who had just that minute agreed to her mummy popping out for a few minutes also took to weeping. Summer's mummy came back; Spring was sort of resettled; Autumn bitee was pacified; and teachers dissolved in a frazzled heap, especially as the other mummies in attendance were naturally looking on with great interest.
In control? Of course we were. I'm taking chocolate biscuits in for tomorrow...

Am I the only one feeling faintly irritated by the costumes in the recent costume dramas on TV? OK, so I realise the new Robin Hood is on the spoofy side of realism, but why do they announce it so firmly to be the year 1192, and then have costumes straight out of the C21st? Far too many layers - what's with all the waistcoats and trousers?
And I also realise that Jane Eyre's own dress in that series is based on a portrait of Charlotte Bronte, but why do that when the dress is obviously of an 1840's style, when everyone else is being in the 1830's? Just look at the sleeves - everyone else is still in Leg o' Mutton, while she's in narrow shoulders and belling at the wrist. What's that all about?
Do I need to get a life, or is anyone else bothered too?

We went to see the Hans Holbein exhibition at Tate Britain today. Brilliant! They had collected a large number of both paintings and drawings - mostly portraits, which are my favourite thing anyway. The personalities almost leap from the walls, they are such wonderful likenesses.
Of course while we were there, we did a twirl round our other favoured bits too

like this JM Whistler view of the Thames, which was one of my favourites from the Turner, Whistler, Monet exhibition last year.
It was a lovely sunny day (unlike yesterday, when it poured with rain for hours) so it was good to be out and about.

I've been pondering Jack Straw's words about women in full face veils today. Quite apart from any party political axes he may have to grind, I think he has a point in his comments on being neighbourly.
I read once that a person's daily feel good factor doesn't rely on how many friends they have, but how many friendly strangers they come across in their day - the woman you see at the bus stop most days and exchange greetings with; the postman who passes the time of day; that bloke in the paper shop Sunday mornings, etc.
There is a mum of a child who was in our nursery and still comes to school that I'm quite friendly with. She wears the full burqa with veil, which is how she was when I got to know her, so that was fine.
Then one Ramadan, I asked if she would come and talk to the children about her beliefs, so the non-muslims could widen their knowledge. She gladly did so, and gave an interesting talk - and because it was only me and small children present indoors, she took her veil off.
Her face came as a complete surprise to me - not that she was in any way out of the ordinary, just a pleasant looking person - but it felt like meeting her again for the first time. It was most unsettling.
Last week, as I often do, I saw her coming into school and gave a friendly greeting - only to receive a blank look from a woman who obviously wasn't her, as I then realised.
I just wonder, if I lived in an area where many of the neighbours wore veils, how friendly it would seem?

As you might know, I am compiling a One Name Study of the LOCKING family genealogy, and as I'm slightly obsessive about this subject, I also follow up any family where they have perpetuated it as a given name.
The stars were the BROCKLEBANK family of Lincolnshire.
In December 1727 William BROCKLEBANK married Dorothy LOCKING in Legbourne. In 1922, Edmund and Frances Brocklebank baptised their second son by the name of Hector Locking Brocklebank, an amazing 195 years after the name originally appeared in the family. In the intervening centuries, 5 men had been named Locking and a further 4 had it as a middle name.

So they're equal on points after the Chinese Grand Prix this morning. Can Michael Schumacher retire with a record 8th Championship under his belt? I'm not going to bet against him at this stage. And by the look on Fernando Alonzo's face, he isn't either!
I've always had mixed feelings about Schumi - one of the all time Great Drivers, especially King of the wet track, but there's that ruthless streak that stops you short of idolising him rather than admiring him.
Still, for those of you into your 2nd half century who would remember the lovely Ann Haydn Jones, Wimbledon winner and national herione way back; my auntie knew her when they were teenagers playing table tennis, and according to auntie, Jones wouldn't let anyone even win a friendly knock up, let alone a game, if she could help it. So I guess any champion has to have that determination to win at all cost, to become champion.
Formula One won't be the same next season, that's for sure.