I always do this

Stay up way too late when the DSM is away, I mean. He has jetted - well, turbo-propped - off to Cornwall to see his mum on her 91st birthday. Left after work, 7.30ish from Manchester, was in St A sandwich and drink in hand phoning me by 10.30. So while I hear all the arguments against, it makes sense for us, sorry folks.

So here I am at 11.30, blogging. I have been knitting all evening, nice and relaxing, cats on knee and not even one tiny bit interested in yarns. A friend popped in to see if I was surviving just as I was having alluring thoughts about a bottle of red, so that settled that, very nice. Watched a bit of telly. Peace perfect peace.

I realised somewhere around 3pm that It Had Gone Very Quiet. Getting up to see what was happening - or not - I realised that it had also gone very dark. Yes, folks, our own little bit of Gordon had arrived, and for a few hours we had a young monsoon out there. The builders had very sensibly given up and gone home early, no fun being drenched to the skin and sliding about on a steeply pitched roof. I certainly can't blame them, particularly as they had done what they had promised and cleared up more than the minimum before quitting. They are making reasonable progress, I just need to keep my fingers crossed that we don't get too much rain in the next couple of weeks, or this could drag on.

I had to make a small request of them this morning. Not to put left over lunch into the skip. For why? Because my elegant pedigree moggies when allowed out yesterday afternoon after the builders had gone, made a bee-line for the skip, executed some pretty frantic digging in amongst the splintery wood, bent nails and tile crumbs to drag out - half a pork pie. A new trick - dumpster diving. Little buggers.

If they go in the skip tonight, they will probably get stuck in there - it has been emptied!

G'night.