Spent an hour at the allotment tying up plants and came home with that pleasant warmth across my back which means I've actually moved, rather than held the same lean over a teaching bench. My left thumb objected to the last few knots, so I stopped pretending they all required my personal attention. Washing my hands afterwards took some time; soil finds places a glove inspection would never reveal. I could still feel the pressure of the ties against my fingertips while chopping dinner. Not sore, just used. The cat wanted lifting onto the chair and received a clear explanation that he has four serviceable legs.

I've started planning what to do with a possible free weekday and already produced enough jobs to require a second free weekday. The allotment, house repairs, a proper food shop: all perfectly sensible, none of them the reason I asked to reduce my hours. I wanted to be able to look outside and decide whether to go somewhere. That is difficult to enter into a plan without defeating it. My daughter suggested leaving the morning empty. I asked what I'd do if it rained. Apparently I could still choose something then. I know how this sounds. The request hasn't even been approved and I'm trying to supervise the weather.

At the pub quiz I supplied an answer confidently, talked a friend out of hers, and was completely wrong. Normally that would be mildly irritating. Tonight I kept bringing it up until she said she hadn't filed a formal complaint and would I please let her finish her drink. Felt embarrassed then, not about the answer so much as needing everyone to know I don't usually do that. We were nowhere near winning anyway. Later she got an obscure television question right and I was genuinely delighted, which was a relief. I can still enjoy a night on which I am not the useful one, provided nobody asks me to demonstrate it too often.