ssshhh! Don't tell!

It is incredibly difficult to buy clothing that fits the Antipodean "bottom half" in the Northen Hemisphere. If it goes around the wonderfully accommodating child-bearing hips then there is always the assumption that one has a paunch to match. Well no, I don't. Once upon a 34-24-36 girl, I still have a waist. And some curves. And that makes it so hard to buy clothing in shops or markets which sell clothes made by petite Chinese for slender Italians. (Current measurements remain secret, even from me).

On Tuesday my friendly Moroccan street vendor finally persuaded me to try some jeans. And... yes... One pair was an - almost - OK fit. So today, under my stylish coat and above my Scottish boots (it was a power dressing day) I wore my new black jeans. And that's how there came to be a yellow butterfly on my backside as I sat in the mayoral offices of the City Hall.

One of the occasional delights of my old and dusty house is the livestock I share it with. No, not Zacchi, he is in disgrace, and the stairs have been washed again. But the tiny little grey-pink-mauve gecko that I put out when I swept was such a beautiful wee thing I was tempted to keep him inside. I don't see them so often these days, and I marvel that they can grow and survive with only the occasional neglected pot plant for shelter. But each time I see one, running up the wall, under my shoes, between the floor and the door, it is a real delight.