Have recently become hooked on the rather excellent TV series Lost, in which a group of plane crash survivors try to fend for themselves on a mysterious island, and are whittled down one by one until the winner walks away with half a million quid. No wait, that can't be right.

Anyway, it's quite good, but unfortunately I've missed a couple of key episodes, which in my books ranks way up there with missing limbs in the pantheon of unpleasantness. A friend, who will not be named for fear of her being arrested in the night by the EVIL OMNISCIENT COPYRIGHT POLICE, has obtained a bunch of episodes from the internet and has made one available to me for perusal. Having firmly squashed down my nascent guilt/terror at participating in anything which might piss off the EVIL OMNISCIENT COPYRIGHT POLICE, I cocked a peek at the first episode, which turned out to be in Spanish. The second was in some Scandinavian language. I'm not sure which, since my expertise in such matters begins and ends with the Swedish Chef. Anyway, without the aid of a Babel fish I'm screwed. I guess I'll just have to wait for the Series 1 DVD set.

[sidles up to door] Is it still August? [wedges foot in nice and hard] Can I get one in before the month closes? [barges past protesting staff]

Yes, I am still alive, vicious man-chewing Northern livestock notwithstanding. If it makes you feel better, I did manage to fall into a really big lake (hey, that's why they call it "The Lake District"), and was only saved from a watery grave by the combined flotation efforts of an extra-large lifejacket and a couple of humanitarian trout. That'll teach me to go sailing without a refresher course.

I have in fact also gone on a second holiday since my last post, to the gloriously rustic South-West of England, where the sheep are a bit more laid-back and don't so much attack you as try to sell you the local cheeses. And plus also, the water is a damn sight warmer, and therefore doesn't make one's man-parts disappear into one's throat quite so dramatically.

Needless to say, the kids had a whale of a time on both trips. Well, Sarah had a whale of a time, which we know because she now asks me every two minutes when we're going to "go see the little horsies" (a long and painful story, which she finds hilarious and which I am having therapy for). We think David enjoyed it, but since he currently smiles at absolutely everything anyway, including large terrifying dogs, it's difficult to be 100% positive about this.

Anyway, the restaurant is open for business once more. Check out our new menu, which now includes a fine selection of Devon sheep's cheeses.