Phone moan, stitch bitch, whinge, cringe, minge

I had a bit of a rough day today. One of those days when you feel a little put upon and slightly taken for granted. It's all perception, of course. You get a little cold, you get a little glum, and then everything you think about turns to silage in your mind! It's not terminal, and everything got a lot better after I'd eaten. I had a moan on the phone to Fiona and then another one on the phone to my Dad who asked the rather shrewd question; "are you happy?" Of course I'm happy. I'm radiantly happy, but he slightly caught me off guard, so I think I fudged an answer!

Anyway, when I wasn't whinging, I managed to work. I sent off an application to the Arts Council, I did some detailed work on my brass band arrangements, and all the time felt very grateful that my cold seemed to be slowly subsiding.

Nathan made everything okay again, when he arrived home from work clutching cookies and a bouquet flowers because he knew I'd been fed up all day. How absolutely lovely is that? I feel incredibly lucky to sit next to him on a sofa every night!

We immediately entered a television marathon which started with The Great British Sewing Bee. That show would make a man smile with a heart of ice, though heaven alone knows why there's only six episodes in this series. I want ten. Or twelve. In fact, I want this particular little piece of sunny joy to go on all year. I adore Claudia Winkleman. She's naughty, witty and utterly insane.

We graduated from the Sewing Bee into the dark, brooding world of Broadchurch, which has recently become a fest of lingering looks and focus pulls from an assortment of reflective surfaces. Why have dialogue when you can hold your camera for hours on a central character, standing in a field on a cliff top looking towards the sunset? If it was Scandinavian, or an advert for Scottish Widows, I'd forgive it. Because it's British, it's rapidly disappearing up its own arse! Mind you, Olivia Coleman is incapable of giving anything but the most exquisite acting performances, so I continue to cling on in the hope that some of the first season's magic will return.

Nathan is knitting socks with a yarn which smells like a farmyard and feels like wire wool. Bit weird.