9th august - and yesterday was going so well . . .

well the day ended with a bang, or a splash rather. As usual, I took my pint of squash up with me and placed it on the bedside table. As usual, I availed myself of my outer layer and dumped my day togs on the floor by my bed, climbed into my shorts and subsequently the bed. Muffin had snuggled up into her sleeping quarters underneath and Bogey was lying comfortably, gently snorting away, where the ex used to reside. I reached up to switch off the bedside lamp, a sleek naturally rusted steel affair with a painted opaque glass shade. Having successfully operated the switch I managed to somehow drag it on to the full pint of pink liquid and deposit the whole kaboodle on to my pile of clothes. The next five minutes or so were filled with a sufficient amount of ooh-ing and aah-ing interspersed with the odd 'BASTARD' at several decibels above what one would consider a reasonable noise level for that time of the day.

At this point, I would usually have been in ultra relaxation made, contemplating the day's events, what was on the agenda for the morrow; I might even have been considering having gentlemanly sex with myself. the ensuing panic and unplanned laundry and housework operations put paid to all that. Despite all that I did get a good night's sleep.

I awoke at 8.15, somewhat later than is my habit but fresh and ready for the day. Did the usual bathroom things and selected some fresh clothing and made my way downstairs. Tom, the postie, brings the mail which I quickly examine, hoping nothing inconvenient will be plaguing me in the near future. The morning ritual continued first by putting on the coffee, then letting Bogey out to chase the rabbits and relieve himself in the long grasses on the other side of the road. He waits like a caged tiger behind the front gate and I have to be really quick opening it if he isn't to push the whole thing over with his 40kg of pure muscle and exuberance. I stock up the bird table and outdoor cills with seed and check the fatball hanging in the foliage aware that a fair section of our local avian population are shuffling about expectantly amongst the branches of the surrounding rowan and beech trees, call Bogey back in and give the dogs their breakfast. I roll my first fag of the day and by this time the coffee is ready.

I take this 'breakfast' ensemble into the studio, light my fag and take a sip, and check my emails and calendar. This morning Heather rang and we had a long and fruitful conversation about out future plans. I told her I'd have no problems with her moving into the farmhouse and, contrary to my previous attitude, allowing her lover to visit her. Up to this point, I had been threatening to beat the living shit out of him and trash his beloved racing car, but common sense and a cooling of my anger over past events has now prevailed and I'm willing to let things continue on their natural course as they would ultimately do. The less aggravation the better for all of us. I'd even buy her a range cooker and help with converting the farmhouse into as good a living accommodation as my cottage.

And that takes us up to the point at which I am writing this little note. The weather is beautiful; fresh and sunny and all bodes well for the day. Chaffinches and coal tits peck away happily on the window cill. This month the young ones have ventured out on their own and sometimes with their mums and dads though the majority now seem quite independent and capable of looking after themselves.

I'm going to roll my second fag now and refill my cup. I'll check out the chess, make my moves then get on with the day's chores. Today is going to be brilliant . . .