I badly mistimed my trip to the recycling facility this lunchtime, arriving just in time for them to move a few vehicles in and out, thus cutting me off from the bins where things like foil and recyclable printer cartridges go. When I went to chuck my garden waste into the hopper, the gentleman ahead of me had just chucked his landfill rubbish in by mistake so they had to stop the machine, fish it out, and restart it. While they were doing that I couldn't get rid of my landfill waste because they were moving the crusher from one skip to another, and indeed in the end I had to ask someone else waiting if he would mind chucking in my bag of stuff as I knew the woman behind my car was ready to go and I was blocking her. On the other hand, I did commit a highly illegal act of recycling by fishing a couple of chunks of sandstone slab out of the bricks and topsoil skip as they will be useful for making an informal path round the back of the fig tree. Also, the facility really does recycle cooking oil now, though not the plastic bottle that contained it, which I brought home to be recycled by the district council's recycling facility instead.

Back home, the Krumpies had an exciting morning of being allowed out mostly unsupervised, but decided to wait for me to come out to play, and possibly just as well, as Smidgin suddenly appeared, and became very interested in Rosa, who was definitely not very interested in him, thanks, and arched her back and fluffed herself up. In the end, I drew my water pistol and a few squirts sent him over the fence. So, yes, I have spent the morning gardening with a water pistol within easy reach, thus fulfilling many disturbing colonial stereotypes. Rosa, meanwhile, was very interested in the fact that I was using sharp and spiky garden implements to clean out the strawberry bed (which I am about to replant in a more sensible arrangement) and kept trying to help me with my work. She is still alive. In fact, the Krumps seem to have been very relaxed about their new freedom and my worries about them diminish by the day. This week, we will be learning how to use the cat flap. Or rather they will, as I know how to ... though I don't fit through it very well. But I think they will be quite firmly kept an eye on for the time being.

Gardening has gone well, and I have finally finished clearing the various beds and improving the soil in the back garden. There are no more bags of compost to dig in or stones that have been dug out. It's possible to walk around on the patio again. I have to replant the strawberries today and hope for rain, or else mighty thews for lifting canfuls of water. I have done the necessary radical pruning on both quince and cherry; it's not an ideal time but both were out of control and likely to be damaged by strong winds Now they are neat again, and I shall be training the quince to the back wall. We actually had cherries this year, and they were delicious. Still no quinces, but maybe next year.

Now to make stock, think about dinner, do some work, and finish redesigning the strawberry bed for maximum convenience of people picking strawberries. Oh, and tidy up the loganberries, and weed the patio.

My copy of Hope-in-the-Mist by Michael Swanwick arrived this morning (thanks, PK), and of course, I immediately dived into it to solve the mystery of where did Hope Mirrlees live in Oxford. The book notes that at one point she lived close to Tolkien, which is, geographically, true in the strictest sense in that they lived in the same area, but there is a wealth of local distance between Sandfield Road and Headington Hill, including a main road, and I'm not remotely surprised to learn that they probably never met.

Mirrlees' Oxford address was The Firs, Headington Hill, and a quick Google offered up the information that yes, it's still called that, and a post code, which I slotted into the latest version of Live Search, and yes, technically, I did unknowingly live within brisk walking distance, or at any rate a ten-minute uphill cycle ride, of Hope Mirrlees at the point when I was reading Lud-in-the-Mist for the first time, and deciding that it was probably the best book ever, after Lord of the Rings. Tolkien left Oxford in 1968, when I would have read The Hobbit, but before I read The Lord of the Rings for the first time (in 1971) but when he lived in Sandfield Road, I was regularly walking up and down that street when we went to Headington. (We had no car at that point, and buses from Marston to Headington were complicated, so we walked.)

It is strange enough to have unwittingly lived within walking distance of one of the most influential writers of one's formative years, but two???

So, as I coincidentally happen to be in Oxford tomorrow, I think my way there or back again had better take me past Tolkien's house, Hope Mirrlees' house, and to do the triple, C.S Lewis's house. I've visited his grave,at Holy Trinity church, in the Quarry (no bells, so I've only been there the once as well) but never been to the house, which is slightly off my Oxford map, being on the other side of the A40/bypass, on the edge of Risinghurst, where I never had cause to go as a teenager. Though why not, I don't know, as there are roads and bridleways that would have then taken me out towards Wheatley and what looks like prime cycling countryside; I suspect that the only stumbling block here was lack of an obvious route in, whereas I was off all over Otmoor, once the flyover was built and I could easily cross the A40. For the same reasons I never made it out to Cuddesdon, or Horspath or Garsington on my bicycle. Still, far too late now.

Anyway, time to get ready and head for London for the afternoon.

Pleasing to discover that I (and I suspect numerous other people too as I only tacked my name on the list yesterday, and I don't recall it being lengthy) have won a pair of cinema tickets in the BSFA/BFI competition associated with the BFI's One GreatGiant Leap season. I don't often win things so I'm pleased with this (and earnestly hoping it's the first sign of a shift in my notoriously indifferent luck).

Guttingly, the film I would most love to see, Race to the Moon: Failure Is Not An Option, is scheduled on the same night as the next BSFA meeting, and as PK is interviewing Andrew McKie, it would be bad manners not to show up. (I'm a huge fan of Gene Krantz, but I'm not sure if I've seen this or not; I've seen a lot of space race films over the years and after a while ...). Instead, we're planning to go and see In The Shadow of the Moon about the various moon walkers. I'm looking forward to it.

Right now, I'm mostly planning to go to bed, earnestly hoping there is no thunderstorm tonight as I'd like to get in as much sleep as possible before the Krumpies begin the 4 a.m. session of amateur horology and Olympic bed-head balance trials. (Rosa is becoming disturbingly competent at activating the alarm/radio by walking across it. Three times last night ...)

peake has a very interesting post on rereading Dhalgren here.

Interestingly, in a remarkably similar exercise, I am moments away from beginning a reread of the original Earthsea trilogy, having not read it properly since sometime in my mid-twenties (at a guess). Will report back, hoping it is more successful than my most recent reread of Susan Cooper's The Dark is Rising, which did not go at all well.

To give you some idea about the respective characters of Rosa and Nicodemus Krump, let us consider their preferences when it comes to chasing insects.

Nicodemus loves butterflies. They've started coming into the garden a lot this week and he is delighted. Hasn't caught one yet, but it doesn't matter. He hurls himself joyfully across the garden after them, as they zip by on the way to another bush to lay eggs on.

Rosa has no truck with those new-fangled butterfly things. They are far too flashy and gaudy for her. She is further down the garden, doing valuable close-up nose work with the fly population as it settles on the ground to sun itself. She hasn't caught anything either but she enjoys the careful stalking, the delicate pounce, and there are so many more of them to play with.

la_marquise_de_. I trust your day is totally splendid.

I've taken to letting the Krumps out first thing, and doing a little gardening while they explore. This is, as you might imagine, rather nerve-wracking, even though the gardens are quiet and it's relatively easy to keep an eye on them. They are desperate to explore; I am desperate not to lose sight of them, not least because they still seem to be a bit sketchy on the answering to name (or at any rate, answering to familiar noise that means food) business, and I'm not sure if they know their way home. Yesterday they spent a huge amount of time in my next door neighbours' garden, racing round and round. Today, they were straight over the wall, straight into Two Doors Over, and then into The Garden After That, which I can only assume ranks up there with the kingdom of Prester John so far as Krumps are concerned. They have been up and down walls, have climbed trees, have gone into The Garden At the Bottom, and Nicodemus has been to visit my neighbour on the other side.

I worry less about Nicodemus as he is already a strong little cat and can get himself over most obstacles. Rosa is a little smaller, and as yet not quite as strong – she got stuck in my neighbours' garden yesterday until I encouraged her to climb the trellis, after which she had no problem, and indeed repeated the feat this morning – but what she lacks in strength she more than makes up for in sheer determination. And once she gets going, there really is no holding her. She was first into The Garden After That, and after Nicodemus came home, she took herself off to hang out with Minnow in The Garden At The Bottom, and only came home when Two Gardens Over's owner came out to water his plants. Sweetly, when I brought her back into the house, Nicodemus was yelling his head off because he couldn't find her. They are now affectionately ripping one another's heads off, bless them. I am a little greyer every day. On the other hand, I'm getting far more gardening done now than at the beginning of the week.

I think they know their ways home. I am happy they're not going to rip their collars off. The neighbours are starting to get to know them. I think that's about all we can hope for right now.

That, and I think I must take a bottle of wine to my next-door neighbours, to apologise for the runs that the Krumpies are making through their shrubbery.

And now, it's time to devote myself to scholarly pursuits until the Krumps want to explore again. They have a pattern of playing first thing, exhausting themselves, sleeping, waking up at lunchtime, rinse, repeat, wake up in the evening, run mad.

... my Rosie the Riveter doll decided to plunge to the floor just now, having been overbalanced by a book which fell on its side. Earthquake aftershocks? Overly exuberant Krumpies playing nearby? The ennui of being an action doll with no action? Who can say, but I have returned her to her shelf, and she seems as defiant as ever. I hope this does not set the tone for the rest of the day.

So far, I have spent a couple of hours gardening with the companionship of the Krumpies. This turned out to be scarier than I'd supposed as when they weren't trying to make a bid for Two Gardens Over (which seems to have taken on an Edenic desirability) they were racing round my garden at top speed, pausing only to dart between me and the ground as I attempted to insert sharp digging implements into the latter. Quite how I didn't put a garden fork through my foot or Rosa's head I do not know, but fortunately the gods of gardening, guilt-ridden cat owners and carefree kittens were all smiling on us, and it was rather entertaining to see Rosa, usually so very controlled, going mad round the garden and beating shit out of Nicodemus. My strawberry patch may not ever be quite the same, alas. However, I was planning to weed it out later today so that may improve its chances somewhat. It's done well this year, yielding masses of fruit, and I'm hoping for a few more strawberries later in the season.

Obviously, I am now indoors. The Krumpies seem to have gone to bed somewhere as yet undetermined, and I am contemplated some paying work, and also carrying out advance preparations for tonight's dinner, a kind of pared-down mezze, involving hummous, grilled halloumi, something nifty involving broad beans and tomato sauce that I've not finished inventing yet, kibbeh, and probably fattoush as well. Even that will be too much, but luckily I am a woman in need of lunches for the rest of the week, and I anticipate there being hummous, broad beans and kibbeh for a day or two longer. I am kind of in the mood to make falafel in the near future, but not this weekend I suspect, though right now it's difficult to say, as I have minimal information about either of the events I am supposed to be attending.

But onward. Books to read, reports to write, Krumpies to wrangle.

I made bread this morning ... still familiar recipes, but I'm experimenting with quantities for the new loaf pans, which are a betwixt and between size. I seem to have got it right and the loaf looks fine. Of course, the proof will be in the slicing later tonight. Tomorrow I need to take a look at my sourdough starter and see how it's survived while I've been away.

I also made eggs Benedict for lunch, for the first time. Didn't work as well as I would have liked as I had to hold the hollandaise sauce for too long and it lost its mayonnaise-thickness. Poaching the eggs was a bit fraught; two were good, two were ok, but the end result was pleasant enough for a first attempt. I'll try it again soon, I think.

The Krumpies were allowed out into the garden a little less supervised than before as they now have their collars on. Not their new collars, which turned out to be still a little too big for them, but a couple of cheap reflective collars will do for now, and their tags look lovely. The excursion was somewhat complicated as Smidgin came in from next door, in a particularly vile mood. I thought he might attack me he was growling so much. What I can do about him, I really don't know. He's an unhappy cat, that's for sure, and I don't think he gets what he needs next door (possibly a thorough medical), though my neighbour is kind enough to cats. On the other hand, I don't want to use a water pistol, etc. on him because that's just brutalising too. (Any suggestions welcome.)

I have spent the afternoon catching up on the radio (Pt II of The Spy Who Came In From The Cold, and a couple of episodes of McLevy) while tidying up in my study. Slow work, but at least my books are in good order. One day my papers will be as well.

Late afternoon, PK and I went to sit in the garden, watching the Krumpies frolicking around. Then I noticed a strange insect on the table. It seemed to be a grasshopper, but I'd never seen anything like it. When I fetched the insect book I couldn't identify it. A little googling suggests that I was looking at a Roesel's Bush Cricket, a species that was once rare but it's spreading through the south-east and beyond. Interestingly, there are short-winged and long-winged versions. The long-winged only appears in warm summers, when conditions are good for their spreading. Guess which sort of wings my Roesel's bush cricket had?

And now, to round off a very domestic day (a necessary antidote, I think, to the last few weeks), I intend to commit deep-fried shredded beef with chilli, and something involving noodles and sugar snap peas.

The Krumpies have now come to visit; once again I am struck by the fact that Nicodemus really is an ace tail with quite a nice cat attached. It's not so much a fluffy tail as a magnificent plume. Meanwhile, if Rosa was a human, she would be wearing Ugg boots; her feet are extraordinarily hairy, with many long guard hairs sticking out all over the place.

Got home circa 9 p.m. last night, thanks to my hero tutor-chauffeur, who paused long enough to drink a cup of tea and be entertained by the Krumpies hurtling up and down after the red spot of doom.

Brain full. Books and papers and references everywhere. More conference blogging to catch up on later.

So far today, the only meaningful thing I have achieved is a trip to the supermarket, and that was a struggle. There were moments when I felt as though I was moving in slow-motion among all the other people.

Oh, we did put collars and tags on the Krumpies, so we will worry less when they go outside. Not the smart new collars I bought for them by mail order, as these are still a little too big, but something cheap, cheerful and adjustable. The Krumpies look very smart with their collars and little engraved tags, and have reacted well to having collars once they got past the initial frustration of having something round their necks they couldn't quite see to play with.

Other than that ... bleargh. PK is now cooking dinner and I am trying to unpack my bag and rucksack, and find space for the pile of books I've borrowed from my tutor. It's like moving in slow motion.

because they're being photogenic today ( behind the cut, of course )

Monday cat-blogging (aka, oh, so that's where I put my cell phone). ( behind the cut ... )

Stating the really rather obvious ... it's hot out there. Yesterday really was better gardening weather, and woe is me that I did not do so then but instead messed around with other jobs.

However, so far today, I have tidied up about half of the back garden, and engaged in the first round of Krumpies, meet garden; garden, prepare to meet thy doom; insects, try not to sting the Krumpies even though they are chasing you with an enthusiasm and persistence that would not disgrace a bounty hunter.

Minnow retired to the conservatory to watch from a discreet distance, and when the Krumpies were finally hauled indoors after being discovered tarting themselves on the dividing wall, Minnow retired to Smudge's summer pavilion, where she is currently nicely camouflaged with the fennel. Me, I would nicely camouflage with a pair of cooked lobsters.

Garden versus Krumpies was, I think, a draw, with Minnow and myself tied in third place in terms of exhaustion and concern, though possibly not for the precise same reasons.

Today's butterfly is small, brown and moving too damn fast for me to see it properly so far. Today's bread is about to be committed – a loaf of pane di semola that will, I think, go nicely with tonight's projected grilled meat and salads. The marinade for the barbecue has not yet been determined.

Later, when I have got the day more organised, I shall be going online to download a particular essay by Spivak; I'm currently reading an essay which refers to it constantly, so I guess I'd better read that first. it's good to have the chance to do this without feeling rushed for once. I also got official confirmation today that I have done well enough this year to pass on to the second year of my part-time MA. Go me.

Tomorrow is a big day for the Krumpies, if they did but know it. They've been sitting patiently, hopefully, sporadically, by the cat flap for the last couple of days. Tomorrow, as I've a lot of gardening I want to deal with, I am going to let them into the garden, under my supervision.

Tonight, they met the third most important person in their new life, my neighbour who cat sits when we're away. They seemed to like her. She of course adored them. And Minnow explained that actually, this was her third human, and they could get in line, thanks.

And today, I showed my devotion to the Krumps by signing up for an eBay account so I could buy them some more of the mouse toys they like best. I also bought them a feather/bell/ball on a string thing while I was out today, which is now hanging on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. Today's best thing ever, apparently, though not as good as Minnow's tail. Meanwhile, this house is eating toy balls. There must be a place they vanish to, along with toy mice.

I think the cats have had a good day, as I've been doing all sorts of interesting domestic stuff they've not seen here before, so it's all new to them in these surroundings. The washing machine is a huge hit, better than Minnow TV. Nicodemus is big and strong enough to jump up onto the kitchen counter, from where he stole several broad bean skins, while I was preparing to make risotto. I've no idea where he's stashed them, but feel sure I will find out when I least want or expect to. Also, they've had the whole house to run around in for the last couple of days, which they've enjoyed. They're still fascinated with Min, and she with them, though today has been a day of restaking her claim to her humans. She came and sat on me in bed this morning, and then later sat on my lap downstairs, while the Rosademus crawled as close as they dared to watch in awe and wonder. Min still hisses at them and bats them on the head if she thinks they're being presumptuous (Nicodemus is getting used to this), but there is no sense of murder about to be committed any more, and I think the tension will ease when Min can get out again.

They really are super little cats, beautifully trained to the litter tray, up to speed on this washing business, and a credit to their mummies and to hungry_pixel. They are also endlessly entertaining, full of character and we're very happy to have them here.

And tomorrow they have their first visitor, as a_d_medievalist is coming down to see them.

As for me, I've had a good day too. I feel more relaxed than I've done in months and have got lots done, which is good as there is lots more to do.

When I woke this morning, there was mist over the hills behind the town, not so much a sea fret as a middling panic attack, but it has abated as the day has warmed up.

But, as we are by the sea, there is also a breeze, a surprisingly icy one, and I've been busy around the house, opening the top part of sash windows, letting it into the house. My study feels fantastically cool, and so does the bedroom. Other bits of the house are less pleasant as we are still having to corral the Krumpies so I can't fling open the french windows and back door as I normally might, though I may open the tops of the sitting-room windows and the windows in the conservatory when I get home from a spot of retail therapy (cat litter, compost, large flower pots, bamboo canes, nothing exciting but all vital, oh, and some parmesan or pecorino; PK has requested risotto tonight, and on the grounds that he is this week's designated stress bunny, he gets what he needs).

Gradually, gradually, after the insanity of the last week, things are settling again – laundry done, bread to be baked tonight, things slowly being put away, garden being tamed. Tomorrow or Friday I shall go over to campus and pick up the interlibrary loan that has arrived for me, a book about Hispanic-Canadian writers, so I can start doing some more intense work on this group. At some point I need to find out about lessons in basic Spanish, but not yet. My tutor has also offered to lend me some books on native American literature to follow up something else I'm curious about. A busy summer ensues.

But right now, I am on a mission to find furry toy mice for the Krumpies. Nothing else will quite do!

Today, the kittens are doing 'exploring Brisingamen's desk'. This is the first opportunity they've had to intensively examine my study since they arrived, as they've had to spend rather a lot of time shut in our bedroom what with one thing and another. 'Minnow TV' is proving a huge hit, not surprisingly, but Rosa, who does logistics, is already eyeing the open sash window with interest (the top is open, not the bottom; I'm not that daft). Nicodemus is a four-footed furry wrecking ball. Several piles of paper have already crashed to their doom, so it is probably as well I was planning to sort out and file things in here. Having said that, I think he and Rosa do the Smudge and Snufkin bait-and-switch routine. We know that one would act as decoy while the other did something inexpressibly naughty, and I think Rosa and Nicodemus may be doing a version of the same thing, or rather, that Rosa, who is scarily intelligent, even in the annals of scarily intelligent Brisingamen kitties, is exploiting young master fluff-for-brains's enthusiasm for getting stuck in to go off quietly about her own nefarious business.

Anyway, if odd posts start appearing on LJ it will be because Rosa has commandeered the laptop while I wasn't looking. I suspect she is quite capable of operating the interwebs already and is merely waiting for an opportunity.

just to remind people that Kimberley Blaeser and Gordon Henry, Jr, Anishinaabe poets, will be reading at 6.45 p.m. at Meeting Room 4, British Library Conference Centre, St Pancras, 96 Euston Road NW1 2DB
£3 /£2 conc.

PK and I will be attending, he to be in the audience, me to help with organisation and to be in the audience. This is a rare opportunity to hear both poets in the UK and it should be a marvellous event. Having met the poets this last week, I can say they are fascinating people. I've been reading some of their poems recently, and I'm looking forward to hearing them read. Do please come and join me if you're able to.

Woke up this morning with a head full of anxiety dreams about the conference that kicks off this morning. Just what's needed.

PK and I wish one another a happy anniversary – we have been married now for 16 years. Not quite sure how that happened, but I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Love you, sweetie.

The Krumpies and Minnow have reached a rapprochement sufficient that we are letting the Ks roam part of the house when we are here, so of course they spend the night in the bedroom playing rather than running around elsewhere.

And then I switch on the radio and discover that Michael Jackson is dead. Gosh. One wonders what else the day is going to bring.

(Ideally, it will bring two conference organisers, four keynote speakers, and the speakers for the day's sessions.)

For all your squeeing needs, pictures of Krumpie cats here ...

Bit of a rush job, I'm afraid ... trying to get photos from PK's computer took a little time, but I've figured it out.

( Behind the cut ... cat stuff )