Check

He has calculated the 14 cm rise of the path over its 12 metre length and put in marker pegs every two metres using a laser measure (last time I helped with that task the tool was a theodolite). He rechecks his calculations all the time and he gets me to double-check. He regularly looks at the materials used so far, at how much is left and whether we need to buy anything else in before the work continues tomorrow. He gets me to look at the plotted curve of the path (painted onto the soil in red) from close by, from windows downstairs and upstairs, from right and from left to make sure I am happy with it. Throughout the day he has checked how the shed base, which he poured this morning, is drying, so he could round the edges at the right time. He is quite happy to have me in the garden, mostly moving soil, but helping out where I can.

All work accompanied by sunny ska, which makes me feel loads younger and more energetic.

This evening I rested my muscles in front of Pedro Almódovar's new film, The Room Next Door, about a terminally ill woman determining for herself the date and place of her death. Timely, on the day that the controversial bill that would legalise assisted dying in the UK was introduced to the House of Commons. I was totally engaged with the subject but had to suspend my disbelief about the apparently deep and committed relationship between the protagonist and her friend, recently re-united after a long absence (a device to tell her, therefore us, some backstory). I adored Almódovar's forms and colours and architecture and resented the privilege that gave access to all that. There were plot contrivances, saccharine dialogue and a clunky metaphor about climate annihilation, but this is a really important issue that fears about mortality should not prevent us from discussing.