My youngest asked why a church social can run late without anyone complaining, but his plans with friends need an exact time for returning. I started with the difference between the two places, then realised I did not actually know where he intended to go. I knew there would be music and had filled in the rest myself. I still want a time agreed; he lives in this house and we wait up. But I have been turning over how to ask the other questions without giving him a lecture before he answers. My wife says I already gave him the lecture. That may be why the answers have become so short lately.

Rain caught me before I reached home, not a shower I could step under a shop roof and wait out, but proper Portland rain that went through my shirt. I climbed the last part of the hill slowly, feeling the cloth cold against my back while my face was hot from the walk. My wife had put a dry towel by the door. Once I changed and sat on the veranda, the tiredness in my feet became much more noticeable, especially the right heel when I stood again. I stayed seated for my tea. There was something good about having warm hands round the cup while everything outside was still dripping, and no ward bell requiring me to get up.

A nurse who left for England sent a photograph of her little flat, smiling beside a sofa she had bought herself. I was happy to see her settled and immediately thought of the extra shifts the rest of us have been carrying, which is not a kind way to receive somebody's good news. She worked hard here too. I sent congratulations and asked after her mother, but I could feel that small bitterness staying with me while I wrote. My daughter in Florida was excited about a sofa once. I remember being proud then. I miss having this young woman on the ward, and I am disappointed she went, even if I don't want her to regret going.