There are times when the pleasures of being a woman are infinite. This evening was one. Contented after a burst of editing my novel-in-progress, I returned home ready to embrace domestic duties. 
The first one was to make a gateau suisse au citron ( Swiss lemon cheesecake), a pudding to die for, involving most of the foods a cardiologist would ban on any diet sheet, and one which requires solid concentration for an hour at least. And so I chopped and mixed and melted and whisked and folded in, all such skills undoubtedly woven through my DNA. The cheesecake was for a writer's soirée tomorrow evening, and needed 'consolidation' time in the fridge.
Elated by the smoothness of such activity, I then ironed four shirts and two pairs of trousers for the man of the house (the MOTH) who is going to a conference in Brussels tomorrow. 
In between such worthy chores, I ate a sausage hot pot, followed by a Cadbury's cream egg, while watching an episode of Judge John Deed, did 200 calories of pedalling on my exercise bike, checked my book rankings on Amazon - at least twice (such preoccupations are the writer's lot) and answered some emails.
Flushed with the evening's successes, I will now retire to bed and relish the sleep of the virtuous.
Jane
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