Funny how soon you can get fed up with rain. Day one: Disaster. Drought is looming. Day two: Not enough rain to lay the dust. Day three: At least the farmers will be pleased. Day four: It’s raining again, and I keep getting wet!  Day five: Won’t it ever stop raining?

I’m on Day Five, and I suspect I was there on Day Three. I’d really rather it didn’t rain at all, and some other method was found of watering the earth. Or maybe it could rain only in the early hours of the morning. How could that be bad?

So my walking activities are curtailed, and my weight is rising. OK, I could go out properly attired and soldier on, but somehow when you live in the city it doesn’t seem the same. So you don’t. I mean, I don’t. Yesterday I did go out, but only to see C, who was in dire straits and desperate to be visited. Most of the day was spent preparing a session on Writing News, which I’m doing for Bridges, a creative writing group run by poet Hilary Mellon for people with mental health problems. Today I went to see her and ran through it. She seemed a little bemused, but then not many people know what a subordinate clause is nowadays. I’ve also checked my financial report for tonight’s district church council.

Dot has been rushing round various schools and writing letters and filling in forms. Day off tomorrow for Donna’s wedding. Meanwhile I got a call out of the blue from the Pensions people, who seem about to pay Andrew his Pension Credit. At last. I hope.