Sue Woodcock: Signs of spring amid the bitter weather

It has been a varied week. The pet lamb, Horace, succumbed to pneumonia despite my attempts to save him. I was very upset but it happens sometimes. At least it was a quick and peaceful end to a short but happy life. I suspect that he had not had enough colostrum from his mum when he was first born and when he started to eat solids he caught a bug. I did my best for him.

I was invited to talk to the Probus Club at the Memorial Hall at Addingham. I have skirted round this delightful little mill town many times but had never stopped to look round it before. With evocative street names such as Kitty Fold and Sugar Hill, wherever I went the place was lovingly tended, free of litter and the buildings were impressive. There were, I was told, originally five mills and the older buildings were typical of Victorian craftsmanship, solid and painstakingly built, with good stone.

When I arrived to give my talk I explained to them that being the only female in the company of a group of handsome and charming men was an extra bonus. For many years of my life I have worked in a "man's world" so I was quite at ease. I then met a friend for lunch in one of the excellent pubs – quite a few of my audience had a similar idea. For the first time I took advantage of the pensioners' lunch. There are some advantages to being older I am discovering.

The little Jack Russell bitch Dora is back with me because the lady who tried her out really couldn't cope with her barking. I must admit that I am rather pleased, because I think I will keep her.

I had been mesmerised by the Winter Olympics. In the certain knowledge that I cannot and never will be able to ski, I am full of admiration for the skills and dedication shown by these winter athletes. I tried skiing last year and found I was just too old and stiff to learn now. I am also discovering that I am too tired to watch them late into the night. During the week I have had to service the Rayburn, de-clog the flues, service the generator and check the electrics again.

The bald chickens are starting to sprout feathers. They seem to be very happy and roam at will during the day and at night snuggle up together as a moving, snoring heap in the shippon.

One of my knitting friends is frantically knitting little jackets for the balder ones.

Having cleaned the flues the Rayburn is now much more efficient and I have been indulging in delicious fry-ups to keep the cold at bay. The chickens provide me with sufficient fresh eggs and I finally sit down in the evenings in front of a warm fire and eat a comforting supper, watched by the dogs who lie to me that they are hungry too.

Mary, my disabled collie seems to think that it is helpful to sit on my lap as I type. I wouldn't mind but she is quite large and heavy for a collie. Brillo came in the other day, having rolled in something quite unspeakable and was most offended when I immediately bathed her.