A bit of a Celtic chronological conspiracy today.  I’d never noticed before how Burns’ Night matches St. Dwynwen’s Day, the Welsh patron saint of lovers.  In the fifth century, Dwynwen became a nun after being thwarted in love and ran a convent on an island off the coast of Anglesey.  The ruins of this place are still a place of pilgrimage for lovers, because of the ancient well on the site.

The well contains eels, which doesn’t sound auspicious, but go with me on this.  If a woman wants to know if her future husband will be faithful, she places a handkerchief over the surface of the well.  If the eels disturb the handkerchief, then fidelity is assured “til all the seas gang dry”, as Burns would say.

Skies that looked like dragon’s breath across Northumberland last night.  And Chinese Year of the Dragon starting today.

I am half way through the first series of ‘The Killing’ and feel I have to write about THAT jumper.  Worn by the protagonist, detective Sarah Lund in almost every episode, it has achieved cult status, even dominating an article in ‘Vogue’ last month.  It  has its own website, and you can buy an identical sweater from the Faroe Islands for about £300.

I’d really like the Welsh meeja to take note of the current Scandanavian frenzy which has this article of clothing at its epicentre.  Is it not possible to have some Melin Tregwynt products in ‘Pobl y Cwm’? Or could Chris Needs not grow daffodils in his ‘Friendly Garden’? Tills are ringing in the state of Denmark.

If true, well, it’s not Big Bird and it’s not clever.

But, the last line isn’t the last word on this issue.  One of the things I’d like 2012 to be about is choosing life,  doing things that bring me joy.  When I heard that Elizabeth, my embroidery teacher from Bath, had passed away on New Year’s Day, an elderly, fulfilled, lady, I realised that embroidery was one of those things.

And then I discovered this unfinished Bargello work squashed into a drawer.  So, here goes.  I’m glad I re-thought and decided to tackle embroidery again, but in the spirit of Elizabeth Boswell, not Catherine Sloper.  A stitch in time…choosing life, as it were.

In the window of a baker’s in Morperth last week was the above creation bearing the sign “Gadgie Man”.  Irresistible!  I bought and demolished the bread roll which had a cherry for a nose and currants for eyes, remembering to ask, as I took possession of the unwieldy paper bag, what ‘gadgie’ meant.  The woman behind the counter looked non-plussed, “Just a man” she shrugged, with a bemused smile.  I thought no more about it.

But then, I attended the pantomime in Newcastle.  There, the male lead – Muddles – was described as “the gadgie of the toon.”  What did a man made of bread and someone who was revealed as the Prince of Newcastle have in common?

A short spell on Google solved everything!  Gadgie, it turns out, is an old Northumbrian word for a man who is not a gypsy derived from the Romany ‘gajo’ meaning a non-traveller.

The artist Alexander Millar has done a series of ‘gadgie’ paintings.  This is my favourite, entitled, “I am a gadgie man”….Wey Hey!

This dubious honour has gone to……..tumbril roll please…….Anne Sinclair. In a poll conducted on behalf of ‘Terrafemina’ magazine,  the long-suffering wife of the disgraced former IMF chief, Dominique Strauss-Kahn polled 25% of the vote.  It was she who said she was proud of her husband even after he was declared, “an aggressive and incessant groper of women.”

Such dodgy stoicism is valued more than is the contribution of the current head of IMF, the immaculate Christine Lagarde, who polled 24%.  This is a shame, I think, because Lagarde is not only an uber financier, but is also an accomplished synchronised swimmer.

Not for the first time has deluded victimhood won out over a skill like that of navigating deep waters with style while holding one’s breath. Just think of the enduring Gallic cult of Marie Antoinette.  Eh bien!