Tuesday 28th September

Back in the office I am greeted by the horrendous sight of 91 emails downloading into Outlook as soon as I load it up. The dramatic effect is lessened by the realisation that most of them are ignorable - but it's clear that there's work on; and the morning meeting leaves no one in a particularly good mood. A crappy day in the office unfolds, though I take heart from the fact that while it feels like a crappy Monday, it is in fact a crappy Tuesday. Four-day weeks really are the way forward.

During the afternoon Alex calls me to announce that she has, against all odds, spent the day enrolling for the Ph.D course she's ummed and ahhed about since she got back from France - and that she feels the need to celebrate. Having planned to keep a low profile this week what with payday looming and a boozy couple of weeks behind me, I promise only to pop out for a bit later in the night to toast her newly exciting future.

First, though, is the matter of the shopping. The house is bare since we've been away, so I head down the passage at 7 to meet K off the tube at Sainsbury's. I get started on the hunter-gathering before she shows up and we agree to indulge in a new kettle (who said this blog wasn't exciting, eh?) seeing as they're all reduced for the students. Back at home K cooks a lovely dinner of chicken kievs and mash, before I head out to meet Alex just after 9.30.

We sit outside the front of the Toll Gate and she clues me in on her plans for the next four years (which, impressively, are completely different and yet well marked-out than they would have been had I asked her this yesterday). At one point we are joined by an inebriated Irishman celebrating his 25th wedding anniversary with his entire family, inside. Touchingly, he tells us about his son's wife, who is expecting a child having lost two in pregnancy in the last couple of years, and how he's praying to St. Anthony for this one to go well. Cliched drunken Irishman he may be, but he spreads some warmth on the chilly forecourt of the Toll Gate before staggering back inside to argue the toss over a pint of Guinness. Of course he does.