This is getting stupid.

We went to Seb's as Martin suggested. The snow is clearing and Joe was able to spend time with the Kune-kune pigs as I'd promised he could. Lydia from Swallow Vale happened to be there when we arrived with her little girl Jasmine, which was all good news for Joe who now had someone to play with. We sat and drank coffee in the large kitchen and Seb told us about his job as a copywriter and the opportunity that had recently come his way to work for a top hotel in Chester. He hopes to be going away some time in January.

I notice Lydia fussing about the kitchen as though she owns the place. 'You can be sure the place will be well looked after while you're gone,' she simpers, and I feel my hands clenching into balls in my pockets. If anyone's going to feed the pigs and take the hoover round the sitting room, I'm damn sure it won't be her.

Had all this happened before Christmas there would be no problem. Had Martin not got stuck in the snow up in Reading I wouldn't have had to entertain Seb at home that evening. That evening when we drank red wine and he gave me a gift to put under the tree.

What am I talking about! He gave Martin and me a gift and we had a quick glass of wine and a mince pie while talking of mundane, everyday things. He didn't even notice the dress I was wearing. I don't know why I'm getting myself so tied up in knots. He's a neighbour. A friend. Why should any of this mean a thing to me?

But looking ahead, January seems a very bleak month.