A stupid man's report of what a clever man says is never accurate because he unconsciously translates what he hears into something he can understand.

The nights, as they say, are fair drawing in. I now cycle to and from school wearing an impressive assortment of reflective, hi-viz and illuminated accessories looking like a renegade 80s background dancer from The Hit Man and Her. From my flashing ankle strap to my bright orange vest, every inch of me screams "I am here, please don't park on my head."

Having said that, I had to take the GSXR in to work today as another spoke has broken on the pushbike. Now, I don't weigh that much so have enjoyed a polite conversation with the Edinburgh Bicycle Co-Op suggesting that their bikes are pish and that they really should mend it for me. I have been invited for a summit meeting with a manager on Saturday morning where I will lay it on the line for them, then dance about, negotiating a suitable settlement before handing over my bank card and paying whatever they have asked me to.

The GSXR continues to me a mind blowing piece of machinery, more so now I am allowed to rev it higher. To pinch an overused phrase from various bike mags it does not so much accelerate forwards as thrust the world backwards. You know those dizzy spells you've been having these mornings? That's me and my bike, that is. It now has about 800 miles on the clock - the most recent big trip being a scoot to Glencoe for lunch with Kev and Claire. It was brilliant fun, loads of bikes out and about, though waiting for Claire to demonstrate her new bellypan scrapin' brake pedal bendin' cornering style proved fruitless.

Lorna has settled in a real routine of social gatherings sporting Kit like a passport to fun and lunch for a secular club of mothers in the know. Monday is Mum and Baby group, Tuesday Baby Yoga, Wednesday lunch with one of the assorted stream of new and unfamiliar names she keeps mentioning (oh, I'm seeing Julie and her wee girl Pannacotta today - you remember them, the one in the blue jumper from the antenatal classes we attended in March...), Thursday is now Baby Singing (£5 to sit in a circle with other hippies and sing Baa Baa Ethnic Sheep Have You Any Fairtrade Organic Wool?) and Friday remains cinema day. I was lucky enough to attend the Filmhouse's screening of The Break-Up during the October break. Looking behind me during the film was like the bit in the Muppet Show when you caught a glimpse of the audience...all the strange faces and jerky movements from other people's babies as they watched the film.

Kit's new tricks are (in no particular order) - sitting up, screaming, squealing, eating lumpy food, having a reach which is twice as long as his arm, being left-handed (doh!), enjoying singing more than ever and staring at old ladies on buses until they freak out. He has also found a new toy, one which all boys are blessed with and which will give him a lot of pleasure for many, many years.

Our October break was good fun, having Jon down for a bit then heading north to Tain. A lunch with the Inverness Eggermonts broke our journey and allowed us to marvel at how gorgeous Clara is, and at how Kane has managed to lose even more weight. The rest of the week was spent in an assortment of Franco-Scots situations as we chummed Jon, Mark and the French "Whisky Club" around their tour of Tainshire. We enjoyed tours of the Glenmorangie and Balblair distilleries, and clay pigeon shooting (I was second best out of us, though the excited border collie chasing the clays added a new sense of challenge to the proceedings). We joined them for a lunch of ham and cheese washed down with a bottle of Tobermory, some raw red wine and even rawer local moonshine and the trip culminated in a no-holds barred seafood and whisky feast at the Oystercatcher before gate-crashing a wedding at the local hotel. Admittedly this was made easier by the fact we sort of knew the bride, and that the French visitors had hired full Highland dress...sort of a wedding crashers camouflage, if you like.

I have accidentally become co-director for the next Barony Players production, a couple of suspense filled shorts from Lucille Fletcher, "The Hitchhiker" and "Sorry, Wrong Number". Being a director means the actors do what I tell them to which is cool for as long as things are going well.

Finally, the rowans are hanging heavy on the branches. And you all know what that means...

Oh, and Hans...click under this post where it says "Comments". Then make fun of me in the box provided! It's really that simple!