Tuesday 12th March 2019

I wake up in the timber framed palace that is my bunkhouse for the week.

Outside what counted as the rush hour traffic passed by as dawn broke and a grey light crept over the land, promising rain, lots of rain, later.

It was a promise that was kept.

I get up and have a shower before packing my computer for the day, and going down for breakfast, which was to be taken in the sun room, with the cottage garden laid before us, as the garden birds made busy around the feeders.

I dine on fruit and toast along with a pot of fresh coffee. I am dressed in my work gear, and other diners are dressed for their holidays.

Such is life. Driving to work is easy, you just head for the tall chimney of the redundant power station and that leads you to the right place. I see a few ponies and a few cows all on the moor, munching away. Life looks hard for them.

At the office, I have an hour to catch up with my work before the others turn up.

Once they do arrive, we have a meeting and discuss the plan for the day. With the wind and rain building up to Biblical levels, we decide to do some document review before the inspectors venture out. I stay to attend a meeting, so am shocked when they return an hour later, dripping wet from the downpour they were caught in.

As we have lunch, the rain hammers down and runs down the windows like a waterfall. It feels the cabins will be blown over at any minute.

But we survive.

We go back out later as the rain and wind eases, and the sun even comes out at one point. I stay on point guard, and see no enemy at the gates or fence.

So at four we finish, and are driven to the main gate to collect our cars so we can drive back to our digs. Me to the palace.

As I drive into the car park, I had to avoid four ponies who were having grass verge for dinner. They ignored me.

I feel that we have had a good day, so I wander round taking more snaps, then go to the village shop to buy tomorrow's lunch, before returning to the hotel to relax before dinner.

At seven, and once dressed in morning suit, I walk to the restaurant and have tempura prawns followed by lamb of the day. I also treat myself to half a caraffe of red wine, which was jolly spiffing.

It dinner acceptable? I was asked. I stop licking the jus from the plate and tell him no, it was dreadful.

So back to my room to listen to the football, write some and follow the chaos in the Commons.