After a couple of weeks doing nothing but cleaning and thinking about a new kitchen, I need to do something else. Like work, for example. It was just thinking about a new kitchen, mind you. Actually getting my backside in gear to do anything about it is another matter entirely. I have a bad habit of procrastination – one good reason to be working again, where the mountain of mounted up stuff has a nice manageable order to it. I make a list, work my way through it and there’s no space for procrastinating or looking at Dr. Who fansites on the web. I still prefer Jon Pertwee to anyone else, although David Tennant comes close. They say the regeneration will be Bill Nighy, which would be a glorious riff on Pertwee and might be my favourite yet.

It was a lovely weekend, even if it was stifling hot in Dublin on Saturday and poured with rain all the next day. I went to a party where the French windows opened out into the garden of my childhood summer memories, all tumbling red roses and high hedges and the canopied seat where we swang and laughed and imagined all sorts of worlds fuelled by Gallifreyan timetravellers and the Starship Enterprise. We imagined ourselves in all sorts of adventures and scenarios, except the one where we ended up as grownups with sorrows and joys and kitchens to procrastinate over.