The day had really started

1 Yes, I thought that the day had started when I acted as bag-carrier and driver. No, it hadn't. Back from Gatwick, in cycling kit, I went into Siberia to collect my Giro. Ah, no Giro. However, not only was there no Giro in the room, Lady Dorothy was absent too. You can imagine what I thought. A search - well, a look, given the size of the lady - in the garage, then in the shed, then - you just never know - round the back. The lady was not to be seen.

2 The bike couldn't have been stolen, could it? Not again? Maybe, it was at Haulcon. Maybe, though it is never left there. It lives in Siberia. Still, I could telephone the owner and ask. But it, as I suspect, the answer is No, then a fortnight's holiday will be stained by the news. (Remember, don't ask a question if you can't handle the answer.)

3 Round and round, or maybe up and down, or maybe in both directions at once, went the thoughts. And then, and then, came the recollection: Lady Dorothy had been delivered to the bike shop for a servicing. End of distress. Time to telephone the owner in order to wish her well. And now, the day having really begun, the rest of the jobs can be tackled. Biking, you say? There are jobs to be done.

16/10/2010
4 I've returned from Chester. I've returned to my own fireside (in a manner of speaking). No television. No constraints on my inclination to read. I've returned after two days with Jim and Sheila, my first visit to them for nearly two years.

5 Let me deal with the good bits of the day. I walked along the canal for about one-and-a-half hours. The houses along the bank. The bridges. The locks. I walked to the no 8 lock. At the previous one, I watched as two long-boats, side by side, went from high level to low, on their way to Chester. At the next lock, I opened one of the lock-gates, in aid of the woman who was opening the other. And I closed it when the boat had left the lock. Boats on the canal, walkers on the path, runners, and cyclists. In the sun. At one lock, I sat on the arm of the lock-gate, in the sun. All the years I have stayed in Chester, I have managed to overlook the canal.

6 The other bits. A sudden, immediate flare-up between Jim and me. I had been talking amiably to Sheila. He came into the kitchen. Flare-up. He prods, as I sense it; I reply. Later, when I returned, I registered his shouting at Sheila. He is rude, he is pre-emptory. He is incapable of discussing a topic. He doesn't get out enough.

7 I log these thoughts now lest I fail to do so later on. After the flare-up, I felt that I would not visit again, certainly not on my own, until sometime in 2012, at the earliest. Whatever the blood-connection, we just do not get on. He seeks to dominate, he is opinionated. I wonder if he conducts himself in that way towards other people (that is, besides his wife).