Mr Plod

I settled at my desk first thing to get on with a series of admin tasks. It wasn't easy given all the banging that was coming from the bathroom. But worse was to come - the electrician wanted to go up into the attic... and down... and up and... via the hatch in my study. By early afternoon I retired to my shed in the garden. It was much quieter but full of cobwebs and surprisingly warm when the sun was shining and unsurprisingly cold when the sun went in.

Sitting on a shelf in the shed was the china figure of Mr Plod from Enid Blyton's Noddy stories. It made me wonder, in the wake of the Casey report, how long it will be before we trust the police as implicitly as we once did. The depths of misogyny, racist behaviour and homophobia in the Met beggar belief. At least it has been documented.

This evening I finished Lessons in Chemistry. I enjoyed it although it did swing between the funny and the completely absurd at times. But it did raise some interesting points and it was nice to see an author bring out her first novel, which has become a bestseller, at the age of 64. Hope for me yet, then.