Spent an hour in the garden, mostly sitting on the low stool because the weeds were perfectly happy to wait while I moved it along. My knees felt stiff when I first got up, so I stood holding the fence until they remembered what we were doing. No great drama, just not straight off like I used to. The nice bit was washing my hands afterwards, warm water round the fingers and all that soil coming away from under my nails. I could still smell the mint I'd brushed against. Sat down with my tea and found a little leaf stuck to my sleeve, which my husband said had probably been there since breakfast. He could have mentioned it sooner.

My old decorating partner rang with a story about a customer who had rejected three shades of white and then chosen the first one. We laughed because we'd both been in that room before, not literally, but often enough. I was pleased she'd thought to tell me, and after we hung up I rather missed sitting in somebody's kitchen eating sandwiches while the first coat dried. Retirement suits me, I'm not pretending I want the ladders back. It was the company I fancied for a moment, and knowing what she meant without a long explanation. We've said we'll have lunch next week, somewhere neither of us has to cover the floor before we go in.

The youngest wants another colour in the bedroom and has given me a drawing with purple above the orange. I think it'll be lively, possibly very lively, but it's only one wall and I don't sleep there. What I'm working out is where the join should go so we aren't trying to make a perfectly straight line over that lumpy bit of plaster by the door. A narrow strip left between them might do it, or we could let the purple stop short and make a shape of it. I'll take some paper round and try it on the wall before we open anything. The paint is the easy part. Getting a child to explain whether that triangle is deliberate may take longer.