Drunken phone calls

Mr. Jones, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen-houses for the night, but was too drunk to remember to shut the pop-holes.

I crawl out of Dr No's in the early hours of the morning and roll down to the Stockbridge colonies, crashing out on the mattress that Rachel has left out in the living room. I wake, briefly, at 6:30 to find Rachel and Dom heading off the Perthshire to go adder hunting. I fall back into a troubled stupor.

Later, I have a cup of tea with Gilbert and head home. My list is half done, but some of the more substantial items remain. The weather is troubled and I opt for Any Answers instead, which is, as always, a mistake.

Before tea I decide to tackle the thistles in the top paddock. I pump tyres, fill diesel, hitch flails and generally have a good time. Then it's day three of my curry diet, followed by the closing episodes of the Owl Service.