My sister sent a photo of Dad wearing the awful cap we bought him as a joke years ago. He'd taken it on an actual outing, apparently considers it good quality. I laughed, then felt this lovely little rush of affection for the whole ridiculous family, including us for thinking we were hilarious. Rang her on the drive home and we spent ages remembering the purchase, with two completely different accounts of who chose the colour. Nothing needed sorting out. I liked that. Lately our calls have had so many appointments and arrangements in them that I'd forgotten we can still waste forty minutes very efficiently.

Looking at campervan layouts for New Zealand, I keep getting seduced by photographs of a bed with a lake behind it. My wife asked where three wet towels go, which has rather damaged the fantasy. Now I'm looking at hooks, storage and whether someone can make breakfast while someone else is still asleep. This is exactly the sort of practical detail I enjoy with a customer's product and mysteriously skip for my own holiday. The smallest van looks cheapest until I picture all three of us putting shoes on at once. I've saved two options, plus the beautiful impractical one. For reference, obviously.

Got in the pool with my son and discovered my idea of a gentle swim was not in the brief. He wanted to race, then wanted another race because apparently I hadn't started correctly. I could feel my breath getting ahead of me by the far end, but it was good to be moving without a car seat holding my right hip in one position. Afterwards my hair dripped down inside my shirt while we queued for a snack, and I was absolutely starving. Bought enough for two sensible people, which turned out to mean one twelve-year-old and me waiting for a bite. Legs feel pleasantly used tonight.