Found a packet of photographs while looking for something entirely different. One has Norma and me outside a place I cannot name, both of us dressed better than we usually managed on holiday. I remember the trip but not that afternoon. Been looking at the car behind us, trying to work out whose it was, as if identifying a tail light will bring the whole day back. Could send it to my daughter. She wasn't with us and will probably know anyway. I've written things on the backs of newer photographs because of this exact nuisance, and now one of my own notes says good day out. Very thorough record keeping. No wonder nobody remembers the place.

My daughter rang while I was putting tea together and asked what I'd cooked, not how the green was going. I gave her the weather first anyway. She stayed on the line while I ate and told me some small trouble at her work I couldn't make much of, but I liked having her talking. After we hung up, the kitchen seemed a bit ordinary. Four years since Norma died and I can manage my own tea, that's not the trouble. It's having somebody to tell that the shop sent the wrong thing or the kettle's taking ages. Nothing worth making a special phone call over, apparently, though my daughter had just spent twenty minutes doing exactly that.

Had a decent roll-up, though my first bowl went farther than intended and the second barely seemed interested. Took a few ends to find a comfortable stance. Once I stopped trying to prove the knee wasn't stiff, I could put the weight where it needed to go and let the arm swing. Good feeling when the bowl leaves clean, even if it doesn't finish where you planned. Stayed for tea afterwards with the others and could feel the warmth in my face from being out. Ringer inspected my shoes when I got home, as if I'd been somewhere worth reporting. Sat down to take them off and found I was smiling. Didn't win anything important.