My daughter sends voice messages when she is busy, and I have been wondering why I find a short one so much easier than a long one. At work I can listen to a customer explain the same roof three times. With her message I am trying to remember the first question while she has already reached the last one, then I forget whether she needed an answer or was just telling me her day. I played this evening's message while peeling oranges and it made more sense when I stopped preparing my reply. She was laughing about a neighbour. No request, no decision for me. I had nearly asked her to send the details in writing.

At choir practice we got through the part that has been troubling us and I was so pleased I laughed before the last note finished. The woman beside me started too. We had to begin again, but nobody was seriously annoyed. I like going somewhere where I am not the eldest daughter settling an argument or the person making the next call. Then on the way home I was already thinking of telling the younger singers what time to arrive next week. Ah, leave them. I was happy, properly happy, and it had nothing to do with being in charge. My husband asked what had happened when I came in still humming.

The fan stopped just as I was falling asleep, and suddenly I could feel every place my nightdress was touching me. I turned the pillow over, moved one leg outside the sheet, then turned it back again. My husband was asleep through all this, which is a talent I do not possess. When the rechargeable fan was brought close enough, the air on my neck felt wonderful even though it was not cold. I lay still to keep that one comfortable position. This morning my eyes felt heavy on the bus and I kept yawning behind my hand. The voice was ready for customers before the rest of me was ready for anything.