MORNINGS

This is my meditation bell. It's electronic, but it looks and feels authentic When we wake in the morning, the Professor says to me, 'Let me know when you're done your meditation and I'll make the porridge'. Bribery, or what.

So I sit, wrapped in my purple blanket, by the window (or in the garden if it's warm enough) and switch it on. It chimes three times. I start meditating. Twenty minutes later it chimes three times again. Sometimes I'm still awake at that point! I'm getting back into the routine after a chaotic summer and the early morning stillness feels good.

Actually, I do most of my best meditation in the garden. Today - a dry, windy balmy day with nothing in my diary - was perfect for slow, contemplative working. I sat and took half an hour to disentangle some wire that had been supporting the broad beans. I sat while I trimmed and netted the onions and garlic. I spoke to the plants. In the case of the honeysuckle frond that horse whips me every time I pass, the plants spoke back. And the birds sang so that I remembered to fill their feeders and bath.

Later, the Professor and I watched Lincoln for the first time. Daniel Day Lewis, I want your babies. Tommy Lee Cooper, never mind the babies, let's just sh*g.

It was the kind of day I needed. As Fido predicted, I've got my zip back