I drove up to fetch the paper this morning, not because I was lazy, or late or unable to walk or for any other reason other than that after 4 days, the prospect of the same walk to the same place at the same time has become a bit or a bore. I can’t go later though because it will be too hot to walk and my mother will fret without her paper at its usual time. Some things are a bit different when you drive though: I see there has been a tractor up the lane - tractor tyre marks on both grass verges and pony pooh both scattered about as well as now embedded in my sister-in-law’s car’s tyres. Ah well, at least the pooh of a herbivore is sweet-smelling. The only hair-raising incident today has been a narrow miss around a bend as a lady in a Jag. came roaring up the other way. Oh, I also now know that with the pedometer attached all day, a 45-minute walk combined with the rest of the day in the house can yield about 9,400 steps. Have to keep up the walk part when I go home to S.A. in conjunction with the diet part - which is the hard part. There is just something about a British jam doughnut that I have not been able to duplicate back home. On the subject of routine though, it is notable that people are split down the middle on this. I have had a couple of friends over the years for whom a daily routine (inflexible) was the security they craved and needed to live their lives. Others, like me, find routine really deadly and do anything they can to avoid it. That for me was the worst thing about having children - routine feeding! Once I thought I would go mad because I suddenly couldn’t face washing my face and cleaning my teeth every morning - although come to think, that was the preface to having to go to a job that I hated. It’s not so bad now. Just feel very guilty that my life is so enjoyable while my poor husband does a 12-hour stretch every day. His job is not routine though.