Took the canal way home on the bike and there was a stretch with the wind behind me where I hardly had to pedal. Legs still turning, just none of that pushing through treacle feeling I get on the main road. I sat up a bit and could feel the air drying the sweat under my collar, cold at first then properly nice. Usually I stay hunched over even when there's no traffic to worry about. By the time I got home I was hungry enough to eat while the microwave was still counting down. Back wasn't bothering me for once, either. Put my work trousers in the wash and stood in the kitchen in my socks, enjoying not having anything pressing round my waist.

Watched a film with the woman I'm seeing and missed part of the plot because every car made the same engine noise, including one that definitely wouldn't. Mentioned it once. Apparently twice, though I only remember once. She asked whether I could let fictional people drive fictional cars without diagnosing them. Fair enough, but once you've heard it you can't stop hearing it. Now I'm wondering how they choose those sounds, whether somebody knows they're wrong and uses them because people expect a certain noise. There's probably a whole job in making perfectly ordinary machinery sound dramatic. Anyway, I had to ask who the man in the kitchen was, so she won't let that go for a while.

Found one of my son's trainers under the table after his mum picked him up. Rang to say I'd drop it round, and he came to the door laughing because he'd left wearing his slippers and nobody had noticed. Daft little thing, but I was glad to see him again for two minutes. Back home the telly was still on the programme he'd chosen and I left it there while I made tea. Not even something I'd watch. I always think I'll enjoy the quiet, get a few jobs done without being asked where everything is, and then the first evening feels wrong. Don't need a big discussion about it. Just wish the house didn't change so quickly once his bag's gone.