I corrected my eldest's way of arranging the sitting room and she asked whether we were expecting hotel guests. Cheeky, yes, but I have been thinking about it. She had put the chairs where she and her siblings could sit together, and I moved them because the room looked untidy to me. Nobody was inconvenienced until I arrived with an inspection. At work I can explain every standard; at home sometimes the explanation is only that I prefer it so. I am not surrendering the whole house, let us be clear. But I left the chairs as they were this evening, and when I sat down with them I could see the television perfectly well.

The traffic across the bridge was slow enough for me to finish all my thoughts and begin them again. By the time I climbed out, my knees felt as though they had been folded too long into somebody else's bag. I walked the first corridor at work slowly, checking doors, and after a few minutes they were moving more freely. Later I took the lift instead of doing the stairs to prove a point to nobody. One of the attendants held it for me and I nearly said I was only using it because I had papers to deliver. Why explain? My legs had carried me there. I stood at the back of the lift and enjoyed those few floors of doing nothing.

A former attendant called to say she is now supervising a floor at another hotel. She wanted advice about a girl who keeps arriving late, and I was pleased she trusted me, but even more pleased to hear her speaking with that confidence. I remember having to remind her to look up when she answered people. We laughed about it, then she thanked me for buying her lunch during her first week when she had no money left for food. I had almost forgotten that part. After the call I felt very full, very glad, and wanted to tell somebody. I sent my husband a voice message before I could decide it was not important enough to interrupt his day.