I worked until 7pm tonight. Then I drove home in a sort of stupefied silence, punctuated by the radio.

Arriving home, I changed from work trousers to jeans and headed out in search of food. I rang a friend, mainly to discuss the surprising events leading up to the fact that I was just getting out at 7.30pm, having been up and about much longer than has been my habit in previous years.

Chatting led me to the co-op where I selected some food. Having paid for this, I took it to the nearby park. Some of the food never made it as far as the park before being consumed. Some of it was consumed on a park bench. I drank a litre of water to wash it down.

Back home, I did some tidying (not enough - there's a whole house full of it that needs doing) and then spent the better part of two and a half hours ironing. That was my life.

With the exception of the chat with a friend, tonight represented some sort of quasi-monastic lifestyle, the likes of which I used to ponder in teenage depressed fantasy... though back then I didn't factor in a building site of a house, two mortgages and my having yet another stab at solving my perennial weight problem.

Life is good.

Tomorrow night will be better.