The seville oranges being in season, I made marmalade yesterday. I make marmalade every year. I have been making marmalade since I was about four years old. I make pounds and pounds and pounds of it, and I probably eat less than half a jar a year, but it all gets finished - mainly by the aged parent.

This year's is not as good as last. For some reason it wouldn't set and I had to keep on boiling it till it was darker than I really like, and there is nothing good looking enough for village fete produce stalls.

The boiling marmalade turned mean on me and decided to splash my hand - I'm not blistered or anything, but it hurt and I had to waste some several minutes with my hand in cold water while the heat went out of my fingers and the marmalade got even darker. And the whole kitchen seems to be sticky.

Marmalade is also the name of the large, ugly orange bear we take to schools when we do the Toys outreach workshop. We introduce him as our own favourite childhood toy, and I make a little game of guessing his name based on his colour, something we like for breakfast and something Paddington would like.

Children love the simple old-fashioned wooden toys of the Tudor and Victorian periods, and go mad for the tin plate cranes etc. of the 'Grandparents' Toys' section. Today's school was odd. Everything ran very smoothly, but somehow I didn't feel any real connection with the teachers or the place. Usually when I go into the staffroom for a cup of tea at playtime conversations open up to allow the visitor in if she so wishes (and generally this visitor does wish), but today all the conversations were closed. Can it really just be that they were tensed up for tomorrow's Ofsted inspection? Even the children seemed a bit subdued.