It took a while to be sure I wasn’t doing the wrong thing, but I’ve got the SmartSurvey account set up, the first survey done and set out ready to go. It’s too early now, the lecture won’t happen until Wednesday. But I can just Do It then. And hope it works, of course.

Now, I’ll spend the rest of the evening reading. I’ve had a bath, I’m ready to curl up in an armchair next to the woodburner and I won’t bother to empty and refill the dishwasher until the morning. I don’t work in the evenings nowadays, unless I have to.

I used to, as a matter of routine. I was always busy in the daytime, so paperwork, which includes computer work, mostly happened out of office hours. Though, looking back a long time – before email – Mondays were traditionally housework mornings and then I did any paperwork necessary. Once email came along, Monday morning was spent on the computer. I’ve always convinced myself that my smartphone, years later, helped keep me away from the computer, because I could glance at anything coming in and decide what to do – a brief reply from the phone, go and deal with it or else delete it or save it for later. But smartphones distract in other ways. And they aren’t conducive to relaxed blogging.

All the same, the evening has gone well and I’m stepping away from the internet.

Not moving house, just rooms.

I may have said, earlier this year, that I had a problem with my drawing room fire. I can’t remember what I said and, admittedly, checking back to May or so is a bit much, when I hardly even blog.

The chimney had smoked, I thought, until I realised that the smoke was actually seeping out from the brickwork surround. Luckily, it was the end of the fire-lighting season. I had already thought that a wood burner would be a more sensible option than an open fire and would also enable me to get rid of a fireplace that I’d never liked. However, the thought of getting listed building permission put me off. But now, I needed to deal with the situation anyway, so I’d bite the bullet.

The form for listed building permission turned out to be beyond me. I could understand what to do and fill in all the written parts, but when I had to upload plans and so on, I hadn’t any. I just had some photographs of the fireplace I wanted to remove. It’s a 1929 fireplace and I wanted to restore it to its earlier self. The form said I could upload photos, but I couldn’t, they just didn’t upload, whether copied and pasted or dragged and dropped.

I’m not doing well, on the whole. Superficially, I’m fine. Cheerful and capable and all. But I barely cope. It’s all right, better to keep going, but anything extra scuppers me. And I was really busy from July onwards, so I just left it. However, things have to be dealt with in the end and Justin from the stove place came again to have another look and he says that he can’t do anything without taking out the brickwork. He can’t even put in a built-in stove as the whole shebang may fall down.

I’ll start dealing with it next week. I’m too busy. In the meantime, I’m moving into the dining room. There’s a woodburner in there, plenty of room for a couple of armchairs and a smaller table and a desk and my computer, as well as the dining table and it’s really warm. It’s about the only room where there isn’t a bookcase, so I have three modest piles, comprising 16 books, that I have yet to read, as well as the two I’m reading.

Today, I have got to grips with MailChimp. I have to sort out SmartSurvey, but that’s a job for tomorrow afternoon – I’m out in the morning and then having lunch with a friend.

It’s raining.

Solo, the feral cat with the badly injured face, came to be fed in the third week in July and then vanished. August was hot and I thought, after he’d not been back for more than a month, that his poor face had become infected and that he’d died. However, ten days ago, he came back – quite six weeks since he was last here. He was fine, his wound as raw as ever – the hide has gone, no hope it can regrow – but pink and healthy and he gave an appreciative little mrrp when he was given his food.

After three days, he went again and I haven’t seen him since. Someone else must be feeding him. He called in for old time’s sake and now he’s gone back to his new home. He may return or he may not but, having convinced myself that he’d died, I’m happy that he’s okay.

I am mostly reading, at present. I became daftly enthusiastic and bought all five Booker prize finalists. I’ve nearly finished the first: James – I’m blogging instead of finishing it tonight, in fact, though I don’t rule out another ten minutes’ final reading. Trouble is, now I need to read Huckleberry Finn again, to compare. But that’s no hardship. I hope James will stand up against Huck, bookishly.

Wink was away last week and arrived home yesterday, after a tiring journey. Friends picked her up and dropped her off at Peterborough station although, on the way home, there was a bus replacement service. However, they knew the time of the bus she wanted to take. On the way back, they wanted to stop as the man, who has had bowel cancer, needed the toilet – obviously, fair enough. They also wanted a sandwich lunch. No one suggests that they took an unnecessarily long time over lunch, exactly, but Wink was ready before they were and, in the event, she missed the bus by 2 minutes and had to wait another 58 before the next one.

As they were doing her a favour, she felt unable to mention the time, after telling them in the first place. But it seems to both of us that they were very inconsiderate. I’d put myself out for someone who needed help, I often have and have also received similar consideration.

In the event, the bus took less time than expected. Luckily, I’d totally messed up the time. It wasn’t until I’d set out that I realised I was an hour earlier than the time I’d meant to be early by. So I went to the little retail park near the station to while away the hour+. I’d rejected everything in Clarks and Next, bought stuff in Boots and was getting bread and milk in Morrison’s when I had a text from Wink to say they were in Norwich already. So it was just as well that I screwed up, so she didn’t have an additional half hour to wait.

I’m in the market to spend Money. But no one seems to want it. I need boots, shoes, a handbag, a coat, two jackets and anything else that might catch my eye. But nothing has. I’ve looked. Zilch, zero. I liked one pair of boots, but they were suede and I didn’t want suede. I saw a jacket I liked, but in the sale, they only had size 8 or 22. So pfft. I bought an Apple watch instead. Which brings be back to reading. Now I have a watch to let me know anything I should know, I don’t need to carry around my phone and I can read instead. Sorted.

Nearly 10 o’clock, just time to finish the book before bed. Cheery-pip, darlings.

I’ve been busy. So easy to say that, but I had a catalogue to compile and it does take a lot of work. It is done now, however, printed and the labels, catalogues, envelopes and stamps have been given to D, to get ready to post. He says I know how he’ll spend his weekend. Yes, dear, it took me a solid fortnight’s work to do all this. But I don’t mind, funnily enough. Does it “give me something to do”? Hmm. I’ve got plenty to do and I could do exactly what I pleased in the autumn, if not for the sale. But, maybe it’s just stubbornness, I’m still not quite ready to give it up. I always say, maybe next year. And indeed, perhaps next year will be the last. Possibly.

I have the feeling that those dismal anniversaries might have triggered a turning point. I can’t be sure, but I am starting to feel moments of near-happiness. I appreciate any moment that I recognise enjoyment, I learnt that years ago – to live in the moment, not to assume anything for the future nor to let a cloud mar a happy experience.

What I have decided I need is to read more again. I used to read constantly and there were a few factors that stopped me being an obsessive reader. One was that life felt so stressful that I couldn’t get involved in fictional – or even factual – problems or situations. Another was, simply, the quality of “literary” novels, which were well reviewed and pretty awful to read. Not necessarily badly written, but self-indulgent, poorly characterised, overly long and gave me a feeling that the writer thought he (usually) had done me a favour by writing it. But I’ve gradually been working my way into reading more and, though it’s not necessarily possible to completely lose myself in a book for long, not yet, I hope to get there.

I also realise that I still get a buzz from involvement, in a work-ish sense – this isn’t financially motivated, some of my more fulfilling things are voluntary – as well as some of the least. Which reminds me, I should go down and check the church. I’ll do it now.

It took years for the Sage and me to remember our wedding anniversary. We knew it was the 24th or the 25th, but we had to look it up every year. Eventually, I managed to retain it, because we had one child born on the 2nd and the other on the 4th. Once our youngest turned up on the 24th, it was even clearer. But birthdays and anniversaries, whilst celebrated, are casual as far as the date is concerned. If a present hasn’t been chosen yet, it might arrive late or be promised for whenever something is wanted. I’ve a feeling I didn’t give Ro a proper birthday present this year and I’ve only just given Al (whose birthday was in April) his present, jointly with Dilly (whose birthday was on Monday).

Even more, I avoid bad anniversaries, but I can’t help remembering them, though I don’t usually mention them to the family. I did remind Wink though, a couple of weeks ago, that it was the 10th anniversary of Russell’s death. It had been on my mind for weeks and I couldn’t help it. Tomorrow, it’ll be 3 years since Tim died. Easier not to talk about it much, I won’t say anything (in person, that is). I’m hoping that I’ll start to feel less bereft before too much longer, I’m coping better but I don’t really feel better at all.

The other thing I’ve found is that each bereavement makes me focus more on previous ones, it’s all cumulative. So I try to spare myself.

From mid-August to the end of September is six weeks of birthdays and wedding anniversaries. All my children-in-law’s birthdays are in September and all my children got married – in different years – in the space of 5 weeks. 3 grandchildren were born in that time – again, all in different years and, of course, it’s my own birthday next week too. I’ll be a prime number again. I like prime numbers. I’m going to London for the day – Wink is taking me to a literary lunch (I can’t remember, at present, who the speakers are) in London and then we’re scooting back, because there’s a live screening from the Royal Opera House in the evening, of The Marriage of Figaro. I suppose we should have got actual tickets and gone to see it at the ROH, but we didn’t think of it in time. Of all operas, the overture to Figaro is the one that makes me settle in my seat for a good time. Lovely.

An interesting situation is developing with the cats. That is, my own darling Eloise, aka eCat and the five feral cats: Mama cat (sometimes called Mehitabel) and her offspring, Zain, Freddie, Barney and Betty.

Several years ago, affectionate Mama tried very hard to gain an invitation to live in the house. I’d have let her, but eCat had no intention of permitting anything and, finally giving up, Mama left and I didn’t see her for a couple of years. But once she’d returned, it was for good and she’s rarely missed a mealtime since. She has no great affection for her children. They all eat together on a table and she eats on the ground beneath. She’s still very affectionate with me. Zain is also tame and affectionate, Freddie comes to be stroked, Betty and Barney do not allow it. They’re very nervous around people.

Mama must be at least 10 years old, maybe more and the young ones will be 10 in the spring. I know Mama had had at least one litter before they were born.

But anyway, after this preamble … they all wait for breakfast in the morning, Barney being the boldest and most nagging. They’ll spread out to watch as sometimes I go out first and sometimes Wink does. The cats will come right up to the door and look to see if we’re up. I don’t let the chickens out until they’ve had breakfast, they’re quite respectful of chicken beaks and claws and have been known to be chased away from their food. This morning, I was going back and forth in the house, doing various jobs and I’d left the outside door open. I saw Eloise, as I thought, in the passage and greeted her – but it was Mama, who retreated into the porch. So I went to find her some food and she came back indoors. This was asking for trouble and I fed her outside. It’s interesting, she hasn’t been this bold for a long time and I suspect she doesn’t want to have another winter outside. But it’s up to Eloise, I can’t make my cat accept another.

It was a warm evening and I suggested sitting outside with glasses of wine – this was to Wink, obviously. ECat would not have any truck with such decadence. She did join us, though, lying behind our chairs. Barney appeared in the drive and Eloise looked at him with dislike, which he ignored. He came a few steps forward and settled down in the cat pose of all four paws tucked underneath. Why Eloise didn’t chase him, I don’t know, but I suspect she knew he wouldn’t run and she was at risk of losing face. So she had to lie relaxedly in front of us, looking in every direction but at him.

Eventually, we wanted to go in and I had to break the deadlock. So I went over to the bins and he moved away, so Eloise was able to come indoors with us, not having retreated while he was there. I don’t quite know what to make of it all.