The biokineticist wants softer music in the waiting room. I said we barely notice what is playing, then sat there for ten minutes between patients and discovered that I could hear every word from reception but almost none of the music. So now I'm wondering what we are trying to change: the sound, or the feeling that everyone can hear your business. Moving the chairs might help more than another playlist. I sketched the room with the reception desk turned, but then the doorway becomes awkward. No grand renovation. I want to try one different arrangement before buying anything that promises atmosphere.

My son in Cape Town phoned to ask how long the rice takes, then stayed on while it cooked. No emergency, no money required, just him opening cupboards and reporting that he had bought too many tomatoes. I was ridiculously pleased. Put him on speaker while I folded washing and managed not to turn the whole call into questions about his eating and sleeping. Nearly managed. When he said he should go before everything burnt, I said yes, go, and kept folding the same towel. The house was perfectly normal afterwards. A bit quiet, that's all.

Crab curry for Sunday lunch. I cracked the shells at the counter and noticed how carefully I was positioning my right thumb, keeping the load off the base without thinking. Clever compensation. Less clever to pretend that means nothing is happening. By the last batch I had that dull local ache, not severe, just persistent enough to spoil the pleasure of licking the sauce off my fingers. My husband took over the final few and made a production of needing professional supervision. I could still smell the spices on my hands after washing twice. The thumb was quieter by supper, which is usually where my investigation ends.