One day my prints will come.

After four days, I can't claim to know everything about boxes, and what goes into making them. But I have seen a whole load about boxes and watched as boxes of all sorts of boxes being made for all sorts of interesting things.

Of course due to commercial reasons, I cannot divulge what we are making, but one of the projects may involve a certain Liverpool based group of the 1960s, whose work is being repackaged for the umpteenth time. But, I of course I can't say who exactly they are.

So, most days I go to work with Julie, growling at the wonderful weather there is when one works, and after a cup of vending coffee begin the working day with a circuit of the factory before going round again and again and again. And then it's half five and time to go home again.

The evenings whizz by like they didn't since the days when I last worked a 9 to five, and soon enough the alarm wakes us up and it's time to begin all over again. But tomorrow, it's Friday of course, which means the best part of three days off for me as I am to switch to night for next week, and so an Monday evening start for me!

Today, after the best part of three days learning Quality Assurance checks on the various lines, I was taught the black art that is the checking of print. Print goes on the outside of boxes, and is brought in from printers around the world, and has to be checks for colour, orientation, clarity, etc. And so the afternoon was spent in the study of thousands of sheets of print and the possible variation of colour.

None found. But job done.

Each evening we come home and we automatically do jobs; the cats our fed, the dinner is cooked, washing up done, and then we relax; last night we sat in the back garden and waited for the full moon to rise. When it did it was all orange and wonderful. All around us, moths flittered and birds sang. I drank the last of the whisky I have, and all was right with the world.

We don't ask for much, but life deliverers in spades.

How wonderful is that?