So this is middle age?

I know I'm well and truly there chronologically speaking, but it's only recently I've discovered the real indicator of the mid-life psyche. Happily, it seems to be an innocuous state, and is marked mainly by what I have discovered to be a propensity for smiling indulgently at small naked children playing at the beach, or grinning inanely back at raspberry-blowing babies in supermarket trolleys. In fact, I imagine my face now takes on a beatific glow whenever such moments present themselves. Funny, it was only the other day when I was smiling back at people who ahhed and ohhed at my own children chasing waves in the shallows or wriggling in shopping queues. How funny.

You know what's best about being middle-aged though? Having got there. When people moan about getting older, all I can think of is all the people who haven't had that opportunity. From my observations, I can safely say that getting older is infinitely better than the alternative, and I intend to enjoy all the benefits of sticking around for as long as possible.

By the way and speaking (vaguely) of generational matters, today I have finally given in to months of nagging from my eldest, and created a Facebook page. I lie of course - Madeleine did it for me, walking me gently through the process with a creditable minimum of patronising noises. Why did I give in? Partly to keep up with what my nearest and dearest are up to when they're not at home, but mostly because I can then see all the family photos they post and which I'd never see otherwise. The digital age is wonderful, but maintaining a tangible hold on the evidence is tricky.

So now I suppose I'm both clucking and clicking. Nice.

Free at last!

No fatuous excuses for prolonged absences this time - this is the real deal.

Truth is that after many months I have finally struggled free of the hessian bag Stevie and her co-conspirators had me bundled in, and licked myself free of caramel (that took a while without help, I can tell you). Remind me to make my next task the inclusion of a "no female shall be subjected to being made a human S'more" clause in the Geneva Convention. Believe me Stevie, I shall never look at a marshmallow in the same way again.

Once free however, the real trouble started - let me tell you that the Luxor's bilges are a tad slimy, and not made for climbing out of. Those cloggies may think they're neat, but you've never seen mould unless you've experienced the bowels of a classic Rotterdam barge. I've always said there was a closet slattern within that too-good-to-be-true DIY fiend Valerie. Vindicated at last!

Anyway, having swum, bribed, hijacked and begged my way back to the reassuring dullness of suburban Melbourne, I'm still sticky, but only because while you lot are under snow, I'm suffering in 40degC+ heat. Last night it only went down to 30.6. I'm even beginning to pine for my nice moist, clammy sack.

Now to visit you all in the safety of blogland, and check out your alibis ...