Life: My year with children, pets, snails, fleas and tadpoles

Josie Taylor's love-life and embroidery project are on the blink, but a lot else has happened, as her annual round-up of family news shows

I have just received the first of my annual Christmas "chain" letters. So here's mine. It is imperative that you do not break the chain: the last person who did this received a tape of Max Bygraves singing "Would you like to spend Christmas on Ch ristmasIsland?" and hula'd himself to death.

Now for my family news. This year has been an eventful one for my highly gifted and intelligent family.

Katy, my granddaughter, is now nine years old and this year washed at least three times. You will be thrilled to learn that she now sleeps in her school uniform whenever Judy (my daughter with an honours degree) isn't looking - all of which indicates that Katy can soon expect breasts. As she has button-phobia, I am praying, as is her mum, that they burst forth like a self-inflatable pair of dinghies to avoid the "button" stage.

She still hates school because it interferes with her life and creates hold-ups in her production line of handmade bric-a-brac. She is now the proud owner of about 200 offspring from her transsexual Giant Land Snail, two fish tanks full of friendly goldfish, all the children of her two guinea pigs, Popper and Honey, and a new rabbit called Flopsy, who patently isn't that because he constantly services next door's doe by clambering up the ivy on the fence. Naturally, Katy has learnt about reproduction and announced that she wishes to remain childless, celibate and unmarried because, although she regards the mating as a tolerable option, she sees what slobbering humans do on television as rather disgusting. Her tadpoles all died except three, which I rescued and put in my pond and which she accused me of stealing. Of the three survivors, two remain, the third having been reversed down the plughole with a kitchen utensil when he appeared in my upstairs neighbour's sink one morning.

David continues to make remarkable progress with his studies of explosives and is now drawing up plans to blow up the school - he is aged six. His interest in physics and chemistry has caused him to acquire an encyclopaedic knowledge of bullets and bombs, guns, aircraft, spaceships and electricity pylons. He loves being taken to stately homes by Mummy and Daddy for Sunday cultural outings, where he is able to spot a pylon from 500 yards with his binoculars. He is now able to strike Swan Vestas matches on walls and doors at a rate of 50 a minute before being caught. Well done David! His pedestrian aim for dog-shit is as deadly and unerring as ever and he has now set up a family record for hitting every poo in his path in one journey to school. He has become a Beaver and has sworn to love God, which he did at a ceremony last week when he stuck three fingers up in order to receive his tie and woggle. He has now grasped that moonies are a "no-no" on the school stage during the Nativity play, and has said he will refrain this year.

We went on a jolly camping holiday to Littlehampton, where we all caught crabs. We dealt remarkably well with noisy camping neighbours by patrolling the site nightly and swearing loudly at the offenders. Although we were informed of the complaints made against us to the site warden, we remained indefatigable defenders of the right to a good night's sleep. The children were very good, only fighting and arguing in pubs and restaurants, so all in all it was a happy and peaceful holiday.

Judy continues with her interior design course and has successfully turned my town flat into a country cottage. She inspects it regularly for signs of secret smoking by me, and anything townified. I am saving up for a wood-burning stove to replace my electric cooker and have added an ordinary boiling kettle to my Christmas list for Santa Claus. I am trying to develop rosy-apple cheeks and have completed two-and-a-half flowers on my embroidered cushion cover.

Ruben, my King Charles spaniel, still hosts a colony of fleas. He has been to the vet about this, where they took out 12 of his teeth and told me he had a weak heart. The fleas are now free to roam at will without fear of being snapped at. I have not yetmanaged to teach him not to scream when I say "Walkies" but he has stopped cocking his leg against my Laura Ashley curtains. Good show Ruben! Now he does it against my loose settee cover, so we're making progress.

I'm still divorced and my love-life is on the blink, because all the tasty men I know are married, or turds, or both, so little more need be said of that. I am dreading the day I meet a caring unattached horny man, first because my territorial family have sworn to boycott him completely and, second, how on earth would I get shot of him?

John, my dear son, is busy organising an army on the Isle of Arran in Scotland, as well as being a part-time fireman. All his hats suit him. Good old John. I think he is planning to invade the mainland in a few years when his cadets have grown up. We areall hoping he gets as far as Westminster so that he can bring down the Houses of Parliament. He still doesn't vote on principle and is hoping it will catch on. I imagine this tack is not having much success: hence is plans for a coup. His wife , Pia, will doubtless march with him to top him up with baked beans, chips and pizzas.

I am still busily on the dole and doing lots of charity shows. My troupe is currently doing an Old Time Music Hall for Age Concern. Two old ladies woke up during yesterday's show, so we're obviously going down well.

We're all going holly-picking (or rather holly-nicking) next week, then yippee, it's Christmas. I am eagerly awaiting my quarter of a million letters in due course and have got out my SingalongaXmas Max Bygraves tape to bring the final touch. My blessin g s on all my friends. I look forward to winning the National Lottery in 1995 so that I will acquire lots more. Happy 1995!