The temperature has dropped ten degrees.

I dropped Lizzie and Ju et al off at the station in a mizzle.  Lizzie had packed her bags for Paris three weeks ago and had been agonised with worry about going.  Every morning she rang me and asked if it was today, and then it was today.  I advised Ju to give her an Alprazolam once they were on the train from Toulouse.  I forwarded him a link to Radio 4's Room 101 with Paul Merton and Phil Wang to keep him happy.

My job was easy.  I was to look after the aged Juju and Lizzie's three legged, one eared cat. And that was all.  Freedom rolled out like a carpet before me as I drove home and the sun started fracturing the clouds. 

I took both dogs to the hills and wondered at the tininess of Juju next to Bernie.  We did a truncated walk that only involved one sharp ascent which he managed without problems.  I tried to calculate his age in dog and human years and realised that he must be 112.  I doffed my hat to him as he jumped up into the passenger seat.



With no further responsibilities I spent a happy couple of hours sitting around a brassier in welcome, mainly Yorkshire, company in Olivier's garden by the canal.  Although the day had come good, a stiff wind blew the smoke around us and the moon got caught in the branches of the cherry tree, just at the moment I looked up at it.