Tim is a third of the way through the catalogue. He says it may not be quite as professionally produced as before, but I am pretty confident. He’s being an angel. Can’t thank him enough.

I caught up on everything I meant to except for making a loaf of bread, because I couldn’t, after all, be bothered. Buying bread isn’t out of the question, after all.

Upsetting as it was, the young cockerels had to go, and they’ve gone and been dealt with by a very kind, practical young farmer, to whom I’m grateful. I cleaned out their run and Tim and I moved it and, with some difficulty, shifted the three week old chicks and their mother into it. Job done and I surprised myself earlier this evening by crying rather a lot. Silence of the chicks.

We had the first sweetcorn tonight and it was tender and delicious, freshly picked and rushed to the pan of boiling water. Well, almost.

So, sort of winning, though it doesn’t particularly feel like it. It should be better tomorrow.