114. Bread and Butter Pudding

Mainly, I don't eat pudding. I'd rather have another glass of wine, or some cheese. But I make the odd exception and Bread and Butter Pudding is one of them.

It's nursery food, of course, but if you put some grown up flavours in there, like ginger jam, or a hint of cardamom, it takes you at least to prep school.

l had a very delicious B&BP the other evening and I was reminded of its crunchy custardy fruity loveliness. And as I am allowing myself one week of comfort eating I enjoyed every mouthful.

113. Amber & Lavender Cologne

I've been wearing Jo Malone's Amber & Lavender for years now. I don't wear anything else, bar the odd squirt of Coco if I'm feeling really posh. A big bottle lasts me over a year, and there's something about the simple glass bottle and its metal top that is both pared down and pleasingly luxurious. The scent itself is beyond my powers of description but I have yet to tire of it.

There is a pleasure in having a sort of 'signature' scent. There is something old-fashioned about it that I like. I just hope they keep making it...

112. Bertha Elizabeth Pringle, 1922 - 2010

Otherwise known as Granny.

A truly talented, but humble, painter.

A mean maker of chocolate fridge cake and meringues.

A wholly rubbish cook, but it didn't much matter.

A keen eater of chocolate, and nut yogurts.

A beautiful, sensitive pianist.

A beautiful woman, with no thought of beauty.

A properly dangerous driver.

A devoted wife, and mother.

A committed Antiques Roadshow viewer.

A generous, kind, patient, giving, funny, supportive, proud grandmother.

She has gone to a place full of loved ones who've missed her. We are poorer for her loss.

111. Watches

I got my first watch for my 10th birthday. It's possible that it had Mickey Mouse on it, which suggests that it wasn't a parental purchase, but nonetheless I remember feeling very grown-up and proud of my new arm adornment.

Since then I've worn a watch most days. Which is a weird slavery, when you come to think about it. (I don't usually wear one at the moment, however, it gets in the way of the typing and why do I need to know the time?)

But I do love watches. Herself gave me a lovely Swiss Army watch for our first Christmas, which I didn't take off until it left black marks all over my arm from sheer filth. Charming. So it needs a new bracelet which I have yet to organize.

My dream watch? A Cartier Tank Francaise. I will never be the kind of woman who can wear one of those, so I'll settle for a classic Rolex Oyster Perpetual.

I notice watches on other people. Your watch tells me a lot about you, and I will be judging you on it, so choose carefully and expect to answer questions.

110. Chips

Now, it might seem odd that it has taken me 109 posts to get to chips, but potatoes and chips in particular are so entirely central to my life that it's taken me until now to think of it. For me, saying that I love chips is like saying that I love breathing. Or blinking.

For any Americans reading, I do not mean potato chips. I mean fries. But I mean English fries, which come in many shapes and sizes.

There is the chip shop chip. Salty, vinegary, the smaller ones crispy, the larger ones either fluffy or greasy depending on the quality of the chippy and the hotness of the fat. All chip shop chips are good if you are drunk or cold or both.

There is the standard issue pub chip. Salty, but more like a posh oven chip - uniformly crunchy on the outside, but might need help from either mayonnaise or Tom Ketch. Good, but could often be better.

There is the fast food fry. But I don't eat fast food any more so I haven't had one of these chips for years. I seem to remember that McDonalds did the best chips and Burger King did the best burgers. Is that still true? These are not really chips, obviously, but they would do at a pinch.

Then there is the posh restaurant fry. At Le Caprice, swanky London restaurant, you can choose between 'pommes allumettes' and summink else chippy. Get the matchsticks. The chips at Le Caprice rival those at the Wolseley, which rival those at the Ivy. But, in my humble and frighteningly untutored opinion, the best chips in London at the present time are to be found at Le Relais de Venise, on Marylebone Lane, W1. It helps, of course, that they accompany the best steak in London, which will be liberally supported by the most frustrating and delicious green sauce ever invented. The chips are thin, hot, salty, crunchy, fluffy, light, substantial and best of all, you get two helpings of 'em.

I inherit the chip thing directly from six generations of Irish ancestors and, more particularly, from The Parent. She doesn't eat potatoes in any other form, I don't think, but every now and again, starting from a gentle rumble and building (if ignored) to a mighty shout, she will say 'Chips' and keep saying it until she is fed. Ignore her at your peril.

109. Foraging for fruit

This weekend, in Suffolk, Herself and I have picked blackberries, rosehips and done a tiny wee bit of scrumping. I made a blackberry upside down cake, and we're going to make rosehip jelly with the rosehips and the scrumped apples. We spent many a merry hour getting our hands covered in blackberry juice and, in my case, being so determined to get to the really juicy specimens at the back that I got my entire body attached to the giant bramble bush and had to be forcibly removed with a sound like splitting velcro. My poor clothes.

They were everywhere, these free fruits. Round every corner and along every path and lane. I kept expecting passersby to stop and say, 'oi!' but instead they said, 'It's so nice to see people picking those - they always just go to waste.' Lots of people had suggestions as to what we could do with our plunder (blackberry and apple crumble is a popular choice among elderly gents in Suffolk) - it was all very friendly.

The dog couldn't work out what the hell was going on.

Most years we pick elderflowers and if we can, wild garlic. But to add fruit to our list of foraged items is rather exciting. Herself has a plan about where to find apple trees in Kent, and wild plums too. It's fun, it's free, and it's tasty - once you've washed off the spider's webs and the dust and the dog pee...

108. 'Damages'

We have come only recently to pray at the altar of Damages, but what we lack in experience we make up in ardour. We watched Season One in three days, sitting on the edge of the sofa, clutching cushions, occasionally turning to look at each other in wide-eyed astonishment/bewilderment. We had to put a hiatus on Season Two.

It's the kind of show that you couldn't watch week to week because you would literally die of anticipation.

Plus you get to watch Glenn Close's ever-evolving facial work. It's sad, really. It was once a wonderful face, and now she looks like a Muppet.

Pour yourself a Hendricks and tonic and settle in. But don't expect your social life not to suffer.