Dave arrived. “Come in and have a cup of tea,” I invited, clearing a pile of stuff from an armchair. The sofa was clear, but that’s Tilly’s. “How are you?” “Have you read my blog?” he replied – wasn’t there a comedy show where one of the things was to answer a question with a question? “Had I better?” I responded, joining in with the spirit of the thing.

As he sat here, I was replying to his blog in his comment box and replying to his own comment in mine. This only seems odd to non-bloggers.

The phone rang. It was Weeza, replying to my invitation to lunch tomorrow. They’ve got a friend there for the weekend, whom we’ve all known all her life. She’s a bit younger than Weeza – her elder brother was a schoolfriend of Al’s – and the friendship between our families goes back a century. Weeza had waited to check if it was convenient with her to join us for lunch or whether she had something else planned, but it fitted in nicely. “I was thinking of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, unless you’d like something else?” I suggested. “Phil, what would you like? Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, or something else?” asked Weeza, joining in, all unknowing, with the spirit of the game. Phil didn’t beat about the bush*. “Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding,” I heard, in an enthusiastic tone.

The Sage and Dave are doing a two-person job this morning and I’ll be of limited use. So I’ll go and do the shopping first. The weather is not conducive to al fresco eating, so we’ll be in the dining room for lunch.

*I wrote ‘beat about the bust’. Heh.

Having seen over 70 Year 9s through learning the keyboard riffs to at least one piece of music, I’ve had enough of Coldplay for a bit. So I’m playing Schumann lieder again, even though the first on the CD is Melancholie and I avoid such a feeling.

I called in for various fruit and veg on the way home, put on a cob of sweetcorn to cook and brought a fig through here to eat in the meantime. I heard rustling in the cupboard (where we keep the coal scuttle and log basket in the winter) and then some clattering and, finally, an anxious squeak. There was nothing for it. I’d have to face the mousetrap.

Fortunately, the mouse, though caught by a paw, didn’t look too badly injured – that is, no blood. And it’s a plastic trap. So I picked the trap up. The poor mouse clung on with its other paws. When I let it go it crouched for a minute in the long grass before running off. I should have taken it further from the house, I hope it won’t come back, but I didn’t want to prolong its pain and fear, and I didn’t much want to take it out of the trap and hold it in my hand. Unfortunately, there’s no way of keeping mice out of an old house like this – too many chinks. And you can’t just ignore them or you’d be overrun.

No, we don’t set humane traps. Sorry. This will change. Disposing of a dead mouse is one thing, but a frightened little living thing – you identify with it and warm to it. We’ll still have to put mouse traps in the attic, because it would be worse to trap a mouse and not visit it within a short time, but downstairs it will be humane traps from now on, even if they do come back in again. *Sigh*

The Sage has had a fabulous week. He bought another item on ebay and visited two more people and phoned another who are not only old friends (truly, the main reason for the visits) but promising contacts for future auctions. He’s all happy, which means I am too.

It must be something about me. I bring out the polite in people. It’s obviously the worn and haggard looks, as well as the walking stick. Walking pole that is. I know London etiquette of course, don’t catch anyone’s eye and if you do gaze vacantly as your glance sweeps past so you don’t seem to have done it on purpose, and while it’s quite all right to hold a door open or say a word of thanks, that’s about the limit for normal purposes.

Not only have I had several people offer verbal assistance, one apologised for taking a seat ahead of me, not having noticed me (and there were two seats, he didn’t even pinch the one I wanted) and the assistant in Starbucks told me to sit down and he’d bring my coffee. Yes, really. And then, I was waiting at a bus stop, and there were quite a lot of people as it was rush hour, and a chap walked along in a suit jacket and, I thought in a bemused glance, black tights When he stopped and joined the cluster of people waiting for buses. I stole another look and it was leggings, with stirrups (is that what they’re called, the little straps going under your feet, my mind is a bit blank), which was almost as bad. He was older than I am, with skinny legs and it was so not a good thing to see, Anyway, the young man next to me murmured “remarkable” and grinned at me. “I shouldn’t have looked, really” I murmured back. He must have seen the sweep of my eye and the twitch of my lip, but all the same, quite unexpected.

Mind you, on the bus the person behind me got up (I wasn’t able to get a seat at first, then did) to let an elderly man sit down, so it’s not just me people are kind to.

The day went well, I did the measuring up etc that I needed to – I do love those flats, it’s such a lovely situation where they are. I called in the pub to say hello and beetled off to the British Museum. During the afternoon, I realised I’d left my phone behind and had to trail back again which was a bit stupid, but ho hum. As a result, I didn’t go to a second exhibition, but mooched around a bookshop for a bit until closing time, then went for coffee before going back to Liverpool Street.

The Sage had good news during the day, of someone who is interested in selling part of his collection of china next year via us, so he phoned me to tell me about it. I dripped Polyfilla gently over the floor while we enthused together and had to clean up. I was highly gratified to see how clean and cared-for both flats are, I’m really lucky with the present tenants and hope they will stay for a long time.

I bought a smoked salmon salad, fruit salad and red wine at M&S to eat for supper on the train and Dilly was waiting for me at the station.