Last Saturday night we went to IKEA.  It was all my idea.  I admit it.  I chose that time to avoid the queues.  We only went for a couple of desk tidies.

When you’re in there the trick is to follow the arrows.  Follow them and don’t deviate from the path.  Keep focused and don’t be tempted by the displays.  Don’t sit on the sofas and don’t rifle through the kitchen stuff.  Ever.

I don’t know what it is about that place.  The merchandisers must practise Voodoo.  There are not many places in the world where you’ll utter the words, “I can’t stand it anymore, I have to leave right now!” followed directly by, “Do you think we should get one of those duvet sets?”  And then after 30 minutes of following the arrows, somewhere between a pod chair suspended from the ceiling and a rocking chair made from recycled plant pots -  “Oh god, that’s it, I’m never going to get out.  I’m going to die in here.  I’m actually going to die in here.  How much are those bendy lamps?”

The final tally wasn’t too bad.  Two desk tidies, two waste paper baskets, three sets of patterned glasses and one small printer table.  Oh and one teeny tiny set of drawers for my desk.  Not quite sure yet what will fit in said drawers.  No doubt I’ll have to scrunch up the paper first to squeeze it in.  But it could’ve been worse, I suppose.

We went to the cemetery on Saturday.  It was very gloomy after Stockport and all the blue balloons and Father’s Day signs.  It rained.  You never quite get used to visiting a grave.  The removal of dead flowers, the tearing up of the grass which grows up to the plinth.  And then the splosh of the water bottle to clean the marble and get rid of old leaves and the pieces of plant that stick to it.  My dad never was one for flowers.

As far as graveyards go Agecroft is pleasant enough.  It is beautifully maintained and wherever you look there are flowers and garlands.  Some of the plots are quite crowded with statues, lanterns, photographs in plastic sleeves, linked fences and teddy bears.  At one time I would have hated it.  Thought it gaudy even.  But not now.  When I walk through the cemetery and hear the wind chimes and glance at the tributes and small tokens, I understand.  They can’t let go either.

I’ve just read Kate’s post at The Manchizzle and have caught the meme. I now have to write seven random things about myself. Okay, here goes.

1. I talk to my cats. Sometimes I have whole conversations with them. And sometimes I sneak in to try and catch them in the act of talking to each other.

2. My favourite all time films are Barefoot in the Park and Gone with the Wind.

3. I got married in a chapel made of ice and spent my honeymoon in a log cabin in Swedish Lapland. At night, only the isolated barks of sled dogs broke the silence. That and Lord Levy’s gentle snoring.

4. When I was younger I never dreamed of being a pop star or an actress. I daydreamed about winning the Booker Prize.

5. My gran used to ‘take cuttings’ from other people’s gardens. She kept a mini gardening kit in her bag. With her Polo Mints. I’d stand behind the garden wall, half laughing and half terrified we’d be discovered.

6. I was born and lived the first few years of my life in Higher Broughton, Salford. My mum says that Salford people are the salt of the earth. I think she’s right. When I moved to Levenshulme a few years ago it felt like coming home, though I’d never lived here before.

7. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night. People from my dreams are still in the room, though my eyes are open. It’s called Hypnagogia.

So, there you have it. Seven reasons to stop reading immediately. If you have time, write seven random things about yourself and link back.

Pictures: The Ice Chapel and the Ice Hotel, Sweden

Lord Levy is at the football. As I write, his team is currently playing Manchester City off the park and leading by 3 – 0. There will be much celebrating in our house when he gets home.

Until I met my husband I never really understood football. And I don’t mean the formations or the offside rule. I mean that I never understood the point of it. He took me to a couple of live games a few years back, one at Chelsea and one at Leyton Orient. Though the latter took place on the coldest day of the year, I hated the Chelsea game the most. The ridiculously long queues and that god awful song they have – ‘Chelsea Chelsea . . . and then something about making it a blue day’. Oh it was a blue day alright. And that wasn’t just the language. And all the standing up and sitting down in the right places. And which goal they’re meant to aim for . . . .

We’ve since agreed that it’s not really my thing. Now that we’ve moved back up north he goes to the games with his dad, another lifelong Forest supporter. I still don’t particularly like football but I get it now. They’ll be standing there, the two of them, in the freezing cold, rubbing their hands together and laughing and shouting and cheering. It’s a bond. Something special that they share.

Before he died, my dad told me about going back to Old Trafford. He’d always been a Manchester United supporter but hadn’t seen a live game since the stadium had been rebuilt. On the phone one night he said, ‘They call it the Theatre of Dreams and you know what? It is.’ I didn’t think anything of it at the time and probably rolled my eyes a bit.  Now when I pass the stadium I have to swallow. And when they read out the football scores, I huff and make a point of flicking noisily through a magazine. But I keep half an ear out for the Man U result.

This post was going to be about Northumberland, which is where I’ll be staying for the next few days.  But I had to interrupt that with this breaking news. I, or rather Lady Levenshulme, has been shortlisted for the Manchester Blog Awards.  Yes, really!  I’m so excited.  I had absolutely no idea at all. I was just idly reading the Manchizzle, while the wind howls around us shaking the caravan walls and waiting for Lord Levy to make the breakfast, and there it was.

Of course I phoned my mum immediately.

“Mum, guess what?”

“What?”

“I’ve been shortlisted for the Manchester Blog Awards!”

“What? Well . . . what?”

“The Manchester Blog Awards.  For Lady Levenshulme.”

Laughs.  “I told you.  Wow.  That’s brilliant.”  Laughs some more.  “Dead well done.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“I told you didn’t I.”

“Oh, mum.”

“It’ll be the Orange Prize next.”

“I haven’t written a novel, mum.”

“Or an Oscar.”

“Mum, they don’t give Oscars for blog posts.”

“But you could write  the book that’s made into a film.  I could be sitting next to Meryl Streep.”

“Book writers don’t win Oscars. It would be the person who adapted it for the screen. . . . Mum I’m not going to win an Oscar. It’s . . .  ”

And so it went on from there.

The best thing is that someone out there nominated me and it wasn’t Lord Levy or my mum (she swears). Whoever you are.  Thank you.

We arrived home last night a little later than usual. We’d found another puncture in the back tyre (the third in the last few weeks) and therefore had to walk to the supermarket. Normally I enjoy this walk. We cut through a back entry which runs between the back gardens of two rows of houses and on a number of occasions we’ve heard . . . a pig. Yes, really. There is a pig in Levenshulme. And once we heard a duck. We’ve never actually seen them as the walls are too high but we’ve heard them.

Alas though last night the pig and the duck remained illusive, no doubt tucked up out of the downpour. We however got soaked.

When we finally made it back we settled down for a quiet night in with wine (for me) and beer (for him) and watched some DVDs and a bit of telly. We were both laughing about how all the adverts were geared towards DIY, gardening and finding a new settee when the new Marks and Spencer advert came on. It’s set to the unexpected tune of ‘I Want to Marry a Lighthouse Keeper’ and I must say that I was totally bewildered. Apparently, when women meet up with their ‘gal pals’ they meet at a lighthouse. Activities include frolicking in the grounds whilst sporting long stripy socks and waving an umbrella over one’s head. And also, doing handstands in a short skirt to reveal your bikini bottoms. Oh, and there are props! Watering cans, tennis rackets and flippers feature widely.

I expect I missed the memo on this one. Or perhaps more likely I’ve been shunned from the sisterhood for my slovenly cleaning practices and total lack of interest in shopping. The clothes were pretty though.

The advert is currently on the home page of the M&S website.