I love the smell of fresh cut Cedar in the morning...

You know, I'd forgotten how splendid a log fire is in a proper stove.

One of the chores I've set myself every weekend is to cut kindling from Cedar board we pick up from the scrap pile at a local sawmill. I try to cut enough kindling for a week and find it a pleasant task. There is something about the spice wood aroma of fresh cut Cedar that I find very calming.

Still suffering slightly with the lurgi from before Christmas. I've been aching and feverish for the past two weeks, but not enough to take to my bed. It's been very low level; more of an inconvenience than a show stopper. You get tired more readily than you should. Your get up and go has a lie-in, but apart from that, not much else. I'm due my immigration medical in a couple of weeks, and I fully expect them to say "Oh, you've had H1N1." when the blood test results come in.

If it has been the dreaded 'Swine flu' then the experience has been a bit of an anti-climax. With the assistance of a little paracetamol etc I've got through the working day quite adequately. Funnily enough the smell of fresh cut Cedar also helps keep my sinuses clear. Less catarrh, less sore throat and no chestiness. We were using fresh sawn blocks as air fresheners in the old place, but in the new the log fire does all that. There's also something very healthful about stepping out into the cool fresh air on the deck, secure in the knowledge that you can take as many lungfuls as you please before stepping back into the indoor toastiness again. Nice.

Seem to have got the knack of lighting a log fire without too much smoke. Just took a wander outside to see how much smoke the stove was kicking out and couldn't see any, just a heat shimmer from the chimney cowling. Unlike a few of the neighbours who appear to be trying to burn damp wood. From what my local friends tell me, the trick is to fill your log store in late summer from timber felled the previous year. That way it has time to dry out properly before use. Seems to work.

Dog is still a bit unsettled by the move, and sticks to me like glue. As if he's afraid of being abandoned, silly mutt. You'd think that having carted him across the world and Canada, he'd be used to my comings and goings. Not so. He still whines like his heart is breaking every time either Mrs S or I leave the house. Well at least he doesn't tear the place up like some other dogs do. Although he does attention seek by positioning himself in doorways so that you find yourself constantly stepping over him. I'd scold him, but he's such a good dog I can't find it in my heart to do so. He's a house pet, what else can you say?

The new place is gradually shaping up, and by the time Mrs S returns from the UK everything will be in order. 'Although', my cynical subconscious mutters 'she'll still rearrange everything'. Hi ho for a lazy Sunday. I've earned it.