Wednesday 30th September 2020

Last day of September.

Jools still working nights.

Am the the live in staff for four cats.

I am kept busy.

At night I am a feline hot water bottle, and through the night the furry ones chase me across the bed as they try to kep in contact with my legs. I wake flat against the wall. Trapped.

Situation normal.

I come down, clear up the half eaten mouse from the kitchen floor, then feed each cat in turn. It is chaos. I think they all have food, but they try to steal each other's food.

Then they go out.

I make coffee for me and a tea for Jools so she has something to drink when she gets back. She is halfway through her first week.

It is now pretty much still dark at six, when I get up, and dawn creeps over the land, Jools comes home and we chat before I have to log on for work.

Jools goes to bed, the kittens try to follow, then give up. So they begin to some Greco-style wrestling all round the living room. It seems quite nasty, so I chase them out the back door, make breakfast and second coffee and start work.

My task is to sit there and moderate between the auditor and the auditees, taking notes and keeping the audit on track.

Yes, its as dull as it sounds.

The morning drags, and unlike the previous day, I sneak off for walks and brews and comfort breaks once an hour or so. It works better. Sometimes I wander off, make a brew, grill some toast, butter it and smother it with marmalade and when I get back to eat, they are still talking about the same issue.

I eat and half listen.

The morning coninues, and upstairs Jools sleeps on.

I have cheese toasties for lunch, and another brew, and tell myself thought his might be bad, I've had worse jobs, worse days.

And in half an hour, we start again.

The afternoon gets old, Jools gets up and makes her snap for the night shift.

The afternoon turns to evening, it was clear that the audit would not finish until after five, so Jools cooks herself dinner of wild boar burgers, and I say I'll do mine later.

The day finishes as she is aout to leave again, I kiss her goodbye and try to unscramble my brain.

I cook my burgers, open a large bottle of tripel, and sit down to listen to the radio, where Steve Lamaqc is playing all of Florence and the Machine's forst album. Not the worse album ever recorded, but not one I have ever liked, so I listen to a pod cast before going for a shower in time for the late game on TV.

Brighton v Man Utd was poor stuff. The driving rain didn't help. IN fact the rain was here too, and it hammered on the windows at the front of the house. ON telly, the players looked like drowned rats. So at half time, I switch it off, so Cleo and I can go to bed, me to read and her to lay against my leg again.