Suffolk

Half of a half pound of butter is a quarter pound in anyone's language, far, far too much to consume in one go. All that fat, all those calories. But that's exactly what Hugo did when Kitty and I turned our backs for a few seconds. One minute it was on the worktop and the next it had disappeared and there was its wrapper on the floor smeared with teeth marks. Over the course of that day and the rest of the weekend we looked out for any ill effects but came there none. And that wasn't all. We popped out for no more than 10 minutes this morning, and when we returned the contents of the kitchen bin were spread all over the floor, Hugo hiding in the bed he normally ignores unless ordered into: the sofa is his preferred domain. Oh, reprehensible boy! If only I could find a way of locking the dangerous cupboards, the larder and the bin one, but the doors are oddly fixed to the surrounds and nothing I have tried so far has worked. He gets away with blue murder.

I had a very sociable week last week so was primed for a similar weekend. My children love coming to Suffolk, to this house, so their visits are a bonus for everyone. And we didn't waste Kitty's strength and energy either, when she sniffed Hugo's ears and detected the remnains of his roll in fox poo weeks ago. "Let's bath him!" she cried, and so together we lifted him into lovely warm bubbles and proceeded to hose and shampoo his stinky fur. He always stands patiently while these indignities are performed on him, and doesn't even shake himself until he's been lifted out again and rubbed to get the worst of the moisture off. Then he lets rip, and it's everyone for themselves. He refused to stand under the hair dryer but rolled frantically around my bedroom carpet, rubbing his head and ears until they were fluffy and dry, a mad giddy creature. Then it was all tail wagging and pressing up against us with happiness, his ordeal already forgotten.

On Sunday we walked along the River Alde at Snape in bright sunshine and a delectable light. The river was fully in so there were no curlew cries, no waterbird squawks. But the silver sheen of the reeds and the sun bouncing off the water were beautiful sights, very uplifting. "I could live here all the time," Kitty sighed. "It's perfect." "You'd soon get bored," I reasoned. "There's nothing to do." "No, never, especially not if Hugo was here too." And I had to agree with her.

Tiger jimjams, nose tucked cosily in