My doctor knows, tiddley-pom, how cold my toes, tiddley-pom...

Doctors. What are they good for?

Flu-jabs, apparently. And attitudes of wait-and-see. Still, at least I have told him about my numb toes, and my bad shoulder. We have discussed rotator cuffs, and the minor circulation, and neurology. If I do have the creeping paralysis that is killing my stepmother, at least he's primed for it now. (Yes, I know: not exactly heritable. But, y'know. In the family.)

Actually, I like my doctor. He can't be much older than me, but he acts like another generation: he's kinda prissy, which I confess I like in a medical man, and he wears cuff-links. Cuff-links! At nine in the morning! I think that's grand.

So. This morning, doctor's appointment; this evening, dinner with Bryan & Mary Talbot. How to fill the time between? I could've gone into town and done a regular day's work, come home again, gone back to catch the metro down to Sunderland; but I decided not. I have a cunning plan.

This morning I shall noodle a little with Part Six, and make chowder for lunch. This is essential. I have smoked cod, and bacon, and fennel, and milk, and potatoes, and corn. The corn is the point. I had one ear of corn in my veggie bag, and I never know what to do with one ear, if it isn't soup. I had meant to use it in an Asian noodle soup I made at the weekend, only I made the soup and it was good and then I saw the ear of corn, lying all forgotten on the table there. Oops. So, chowder. I can't forget it twice, can I...?

(Oh, and on the subject of seafood, last night's octopus spaghetti? Was excellent, thanks.)

And then, after lunch? I shall go to town, to the Lit & Phil. And have three, four hours before I catch the metro, with nothing to do but work, and see how much I can get done. It's an experiment - afternoons are not generally my best time, work-wise - but worth doing, I think, this close to the end of a thing. And if it all goes pear-shaped, I have books to read. The Lit & Phil has others. The pub is around the corner. I'll be fine.

In which the boys are almost cute together

So there was Barry, slumped across the books in the window, sun-drugged into somnolence; and there was Mac, alternately licking Baz's head and biting at his neck, as he does. And Barry was so utterly out of it under the weight of all that sunshine, he wasn't hissing or fighting or running away, he wasn't reacting at all - until there came the clip-clopping of police horses on the road outside.

And suddenly he was all alert, and realised what was happening - "Aaargh! Idiot Boy is biting me!" and vroom, he was off downstairs. Maybe just to watch the horses, but it looked like a getaway.