Whoops. I have made others aware that a blog is not a confidential diary and is in the public domain. I have squirmed at reports of Cherie Blairs contraceptive antics, or lack of them, at Balmoral. Looking back over some of my ancient entries I noticed that, broadcast worldwide, though I hope, barely read by anyone, were sentiments that should never have been aired in public. They have since been wiped.

My cold is slowly lifting. I hardly coughed once at last night's milonga or at the birthday meal for Lynn at 'Iguanas' which preceded it. St. Mary's Church Hall in Wollaton is a beautiful venue. It looks like 1920s Arts and Crafts - if indeed there is such a style.

I might even feel fit enough tonight for salsa - the first time in a fortnight. Meanwhile must get dressed and cut some nettles. I have heard of the nutritious properties of nettles all my life. A feature on some Radio 4 programme mentioned their use as a spinach substitute.

Then I shall continue the revised 'Jesus' chapter before preparing for all those visits arranged last Friday during a promising session at Bulwell Market. Two fat books had been on my shelves, unread, for years. Have just finished Vol. 2 of 'God's Playground' - part of a history of Poland by Norman Davies. It puts Dad's background into a fuller perspective. His mixed Polish/Russian/Jewish identity was typical for many of his generation and several before it. The 'sciences' of race and class, two scourges of the 20th century made such multi layered identities untenable. Have ordered Volume 1 and meanwhile am reading my last Christmas present to Mum, the autobiography of Nelson Mandela. After Stalin and Poland and the politics of East Central Europe the world of the Thembu and the Xhosa in the 1920s is quite a contrast. Many of the issues though, are similar.

To the nettle patch by Sherwood Community Centre, armed with the shears and a Tesco bag. A sickle would be better, but do not have one.