Last week, scrolling through my Instagram feed, I couldn’t get over the number of people (and influencers) who seemed to be going to Ascot. And it’s not a cheap day out - if you tot up a Royal enclosure tickets, getting there, getting back, drinks, contribution to the picnic, more drinks, outfit etc, you’re running well into the hundreds and upwards. I last went a couple of years ago and swore I’d never go again because I found the crowding, the traffic, the heat, the showing off (did you even go to Ascot unless you took a photo of it for Instagram?), and the lack of a lot of people even bothering to watch the racing UNBEARABLE. The Princess of Wales presumably decided the same this year, that it would be much easier to stay at home and stick it on the telly. Quite right. Then you may actually even see a horse.

Is this all very miserable of me and entirely missing the point of live events? Is it a sign of age? Am I simply trying to combat Glastonbury fomo by claiming that it’ll be better to watch it from home, a short waddle from one’s own bathroom? MAYBE. On Sunday, my sis and I debated queuing to go to Wimbledon this year, but tbh we might as well stick it on the telly and watch it with a bottle of rosé from our sofas. We won’t get too hot OR rained on. We won’t have to fight with 372,562 others to get the District Line home again. We’ll have John McEnroe doing his sardonic thing from the commentary box. What more does one need?

LOOK AT MY NEW CURTAINS! I moved to Crystal Palace in September 2020, so nearly five years ago. That’s how long it’s taken me that long to a) decide on material for my sitting room windows b) be able to afford said material. What you can’t see here is the bay window in the sitting room, also quite big, which meant I needed 30 metres in total for curtains. My poor SAINTED mother (queen of not just marmalade-making but curtain-making too) then set about making these giant curtains while I spent a frankly unhinged amount of time on curtain pole websites. They were going to be big curtains, so I knew I needed sturdy poles (no sniggering at the back). In the end, I found a company called SP Harrison who make very lovely bespoke steel poles and were SUPER efficient to deal with over measurements etc. The poles took 12 weeks to make, but arrived a few weeks ago which meant I could finally - FINALLY - hang them up.

Needless to say, the bay window pole needs a tiny sliver shaved off with an angle grinder because it doesn’t quite fit (this is my fault entirely for lackadaisicalness with a tape measure), so that’s why no pic of the bay window here. But the nice man from Task Rabbit is coming back later this week to do that, which means then those curtains can go up too. I am ECSTATIC. If you’re interested, the linen is from the v excellent on the Portobello Road (it’s essentially fabric porn, if you’re into that sort of thing, which I very much am), and the shade is parchment. I put these up on Saturday (quite a lengthy process because I kept sticking the pins in too low/too high etc while wobbling on a v high step-ladder), and then I had to keep looking back at the window every three seconds while the tennis was on, feeling a spike of pure JOY every time I did.

Last week I wanted to marry my suitcase; now I want to marry my curtains. No idea what household item it’ll be next week. Maybe the new frying pan I’ve bought to improve my tortilla skills.

It’s the story of an old man and his dog, essentially, which may not sell it to you immediately. He’s ageing, losing his marbles a bit, and his son is trying to take away the dog. So it’s also about family, and friendship, and what a life should or shouldn’t look like. Set in a small rural Swedish village, where they seem to have MUCH better state care for the elderly then we do in the UK (not difficult?). Initially I found parts of it annoying because the writing often meanders from present day, then back in time, to the present day again without much signposting. Actually, I settled in after a while and realised (I think?!) that this is supposed to echo the old man’s wandering thoughts as he reflects back on his life. Very atmospheric and will almost certainly make you cry. I loved it.

We have an exciting new entry! Meghan Markle’s new rosé! It was announced last week and apparently has ‘soft notes of stone fruit, general minerality and a lasting finish.’ As ever, it’s called, after her brand, but I think she’s missed a trick here. Why not ‘Duchess’ to really show Dolly Parton and Kylie where they can stick their bottles of ‘Dolly’ and ‘Kylie’? (This may mean less to you if you didn’t read my league table of the silliest celebrity rosés a couple of weeks ago.)

We don’t know how much it’s going to flog for yet as it doesn’t launch for another week. It also won’t be for sale in Asda, alas, unlike Gary Barlow’s rosé. You’ll have to get it online from her website and currently she doesn’t ship to the UK. So those of us in Britain will have to await the verdict from our pals in the US. Looks the right hue to me, although I don’t think much of her serving suggestion. If I went over to a mate’s house and she opened a bottle and then scattered apricots halves over the tablecloth I’d call the police, but each to their own. I’m just delighted to welcome another celebrity rosé to the gang. Who next? Bonnie Blue? Holly Willoughby? Christopher Biggins? It seems to be a bottomless market. Dennis might as well have one at this rate.

PS. Talking of which, here he is in his new paddling pool. I wouldn’t say Dennis is an enormous fan of the heat. If he was a human being, he’d be one of those Englishmen who goes on holiday to France and spends the whole time red faced and under a panama, moaning about how hot it is and that everything tastes of garlic. And then yesterday, just as it was cool enough to go to the park in the afternoon again, he was larking about with a ball and got stung on the paw by a bee in a patch of clover. It was touch and go at first, and he behaved as if his leg would need to be amputated, but after a few biscuits the paw had improved enough that he could get up and leap all over an unsuspecting and quite elderly beagle. Also, and I’ve already asked this on Instagram, but does anyone have any tips for removing grass seeds? He came in from the garden like this yesterday morning:

Then a friend messaged saying I need to be careful because her brother’s dog got a grass seed in her nose, which eventually wormed its way into her organs, grew, and then killed her. The very idea of this practically made me weep like a young Mitford sister at my laptop. The trouble is Dennis is SO BAD at being brushed. Brushes (and the mop) are his sworn enemies. So I tugged them off throughout the day, when he wasn’t looking or paying attention, but it’s not a hugely efficient process. Any tips?

OH also this has reminded me that Mum wrote about her parents and family in general, and the constancy of animals, and included a pic which I’d never seen of me. In fact she dug out two of me, and in both I’m clutching small Jack Russell puppies, which seems quite prophetic now, so I’m vainly going to stick them in below. In the first one, you can actually see the whites of its eyes, poor thing.

OH SORRY FINAL FINAL THING: last week I recommended a suitcase and managed to paste in the wrong link. Sorry. If you’re after this magical suitcase, you go. That is now the right link.