A much-postponed game, a rainy evening trip in a failed MOT motor, and our ante-penultimate outing of the season. Played the same bunch six months back and garnered two lousy points; improved bigtime tonight with a narrow win. A win, I tell you! Almost certainly too little too late to drag us off the bottom, but hey.

Businesslike braces for AC and me -- to be truthful I was fortunate to come out top of a five-end marathon against their Danny Boy -- and a solitary point for Arvind. He got off to a flying start, trouncing his first opponent, then went down to their top guy Rob (who brushed all of us aside), and carried on going for his shots in his final match, too many of which hammered into the net. Calm down, we were urging him, but the blood was pumping.

Late finish so barely time for strawberry and caramel milkshakes. Arvind made several references to Mike, our other player. You mean Grenvyle? Or Kev? Yes, that's right, Kevin. Otherwise known as Mike.

On last week's Now Show, they asked the audience what they'd do with the extra hour of daylight. Cleverest answer: use it to photosynthesise.

Eleven pm-ish on spring forward Saturday, and I've demonstrated my 24th Ipswich cub scout preparedness by adjusting the mantlepiece clocks, front and back, plus the large-faced though surprisingly light clock in the kitchen. And the beep-beep microwave. Up to bed to find G. (a) knitting a digital monkey and (b) deciding when best to set her alarm for Sunday morning's jog.

Change
Everything you are
And everything you were
Your number has been called
— Muse, Butterflies And Hurricanes

Not an A-level type problem, you'd imagine. Except that this Science Museum endorsed gadget resyncs its time at midnight and the hour doesn't get added, officially, until 1am. She'd like to be up at 7:45am. Set it for 6:45, 7:45 or 8:45? Best left as an exercise for the reader. Punchline is that she easily made it round to her running mate's for 9am only to find running mate sound asleep. Clock change: what clock change?

My belief in technology told me that the whizzo Pure radio, aussi dans la cuisine, would reset itself within a minute of being turned on. Maybe it knew it was being scrutinised. Took a good quarter of an hour to get a grip. That's what you get when you christen the latest innovation after an edible flatfish.

Take a seat: if not for super Kev, we'd have lost tonight's game. As it was, this was our fifth 5-5 honours even. Truly, we are the (insert name of popular football team known for always drawing their games) of division two.

As promised, I turned up only an hour late (impromptu job interview, of which more some other time, then Middler dancing) and was promptly asked by Kev what I thought the score might be -- something to nil, I said? No, 3-3, he replied, causing me to go check the scorecard. A welcome return to form for Arvind The Viper, bagging a brace, and a much-delayed second point for Kev after a six month drought.

Played my three like Mary's marigolds, all in a row, getting two out of three and going down to the mighty consistent ex-Hospitals' JG. Coulda shoulda done 'em on the doubles too, two games up, then blew it bigtime. Still, the vanilla milkshakes at The Tiles were top notch, IMHO.

Pick one from ping-pong or pollo ad astra: plumped for the piping pizza. Nuclear family outing for Eldest's birthday -- basketball, Uglydoll, PJs, Magnetix, with a DS game (hopefully) in the post -- saw dough balls served at precisely a dozen years since her arrival in this world. My, we were younger then and knew nowt of dark chocolate Kitkats or hard drive recorders.

And while we tucked into toffee fudge glory and a torta di mele with a side helping of mascarpone, the boys got their just desserts down at the Rosary. AC stayed on course for his 2/3 average though coulda shoulda got 3/3, by his own account, while Arvind "The Viper" hissed too many shots into the net. All this while KC tried to keep the crowd in order.

Home, stuffed, to see the ultra-positive Ray Stubbs (maybe we should get him in as a motivational speaker for our team?) finally be expelled from Fame Academy. Being positive only gets you so far when you have a bad throat.

Turned out nice again. Most pleasant ride back yesterday in the setting sun, gently glowing in my cycling winter togs by the time I hit home. Even I noticed something different about the back garden: the grass had been cut (that'll be the lady that does, aka G on her day off). This was obvious from the sheer number of exposed tennis balls and footballs, never mind the odd piece of Velcro plastic food here and there. That's too long a story.

Bright start today was a good enough reason to dig out the single layer royal blue fleecy bike top. Took a lift up Vivienne Westwood Avenue, one of the many kempt thoroughfares in the UK's Cleanest Town, natch, feeling the midriff chill and regretting such a hasty change of apparel. Brrr.

Bloomin' boilin' come lunchtime footy, and only five weeks since our kickaround in the snow. Our regular opposition like to run around a lot, often giving the impression of having one more player than us. Today they had five players to our four, and it seemed that they had at least two more on their side. We were doing OK to half-time then wilted in the 1pm glare, idly watching them score again and again.

Barely needed to switch on the rear red LEDs on the journey home. Spring is here, I tell ya.

Throughout 2004, 2005 and 2006 there's been a gizmo in the kitchen with a Ray Stubbsy aerial broadcasting its SSID to the nearby world at large. Until the "sync-ed" light started flashing a day or so ago. I've rebooted it, pulled the power, and even did my first hard reset tonight. Upgraded the firmware, then downgraded the same, all without success. But enough of my hardware hell 'cos here's last month's Dolmio (Doings Of Last Month Innoparticular Order).

That is to say, an attempt to capture past(a) events before they slip... my... mind. February 2007 was spent:

• getting more and more into Grandaddy's Under The Western Freeway
• delighting in the return of Grissom and the gang in CSI
• compiling my Ipswich-Hell Flickr photoset
• assembling The Boy's new 195cm bed in his 220cm room
• laughing a couple of times at Ben Stiller in Night At The Museum
• becoming mildly obsessed by They Might Be Giants' Particle Man
• updating CV for the first time in a few years
• charmed by Millions
• rereading Salinger's perky prose in Raise High The Roof Beam, Carpenters

And that was February 2007.

At work for 7:30am with ping-pong practice at 1pm so I could leave at 3:45pm to take Middler dancing for 4:30pm and pick her up at 6:45pm to reach home at 7:15pm and back out for TT match at 8pm.

We were right royally whitewashed when last we met tonight's oppos: not so tonight, for we are tigers, etc. Now, their best two guys both have 75%-plus averages: neither me nor Kev could trouble them overly, but the boy Cassy took 'em all the way and coulda shoulda beaten one of 'em (numerous missed matchpoints). Kev gained an end though not the game against their number three, who thankfully went down to me and KC. Five ends for an epic doubles heralded an old motorbike joke: the roar of our triumph was heard throughout the land. Net result, three more points than our first-half encounter.

A tactical decision left Arvind on the touchline, spectating and umpiring. Over caramel milkshakes it emerged that he'd have secured two points this evening, apparently, though that could be the Explorer talking.

A Sunday afternoon, a stifling room, and a beclothed table set with filled rolls, profiteroles and those retro coconut marshmallow cakes. It can only be a family gathering, though this one's a bit special, celebrating the 90th birthday of Mr Frank Walter Talbot, my grandad.

In his four score years and ten he's:

• seen active service in North Africa and picked up a little Swahili
• been a truant officer (straight out of The Beano)
• served as the President of the Ipswich Co-operative Society
• et cetera

There were turns from assorted kiddies, inc. songs and joke-telling from The Boy, quoting the puntastic riddles he finds on the back of the Choobs. Sample: where do cows go on a Saturday night? Answer: to the moooovies!

Good to catch up with certain family members from near and far, and here's looking forward to FWT's 100th.