The last thing mum and Andrew say before going on holiday is always ‘don’t forget to water the garden’. The tomatoes, apparently, and some delicate blue things growing up the fence, need water every day, whether it’s rained or not, so even though I woke up to a grey sky and a wet garden this morning, I spent the first ten minutes home this evening running around with a hose pipe. I couldn’t face the idea of watering cans, but I did feel very naughty using the hose. There isn’t a ban this year, but I think it’s been so deeply ingrained that you still feel like you’re being a bit clandestine. It’s like not wearing a seat belt, or scattering someone’s ashes in Allied Carpets. Not the done thing.

Spent the day ploughing through little bits and bobs that needed doing but stopped me getting on with the bigger jobs that have been calling for attention for some days. Ended up coming home feeling like I’d achieved very little and getting annoyed with the crowds on the tube.

Calmed down with a few cups of tea and started trying to organise my 70,000 words into the start of a novel. Got the first page done, and I’m very pleased with it. If I can write one a night I’ll have it done in six months. I think one page a night it a bit of an unreasonable expectation, though. Two or three pages a week is more like it, so the whole thing will take ages.

We’re coming up for the first anniversary of the radio show. I wonder if a ‘year gone by’ retrospective is in order.

1. A dark day for the world
   What a terrible day. Three planes deliberately flying into buildings in America, the World Trade Centre destroyed. Thousands of people undoubtedly dead. I really don't...
   
   
2. Punctured
   I woke up too late to see the wildlife, most of which had finished its early morning social and got on with the day.The clandesting...
   
   
3. Daily bread
   It's not been a bad week, all things considered. Perhaps it's because it was the first week back from holiday. Last night, though, I was...