Stop Press. We have a door between dining-room and sitting-room. The cat spent the night for the first time just where he's supposed to in the playground of the mice he is employed to catch. Triumph for us - doubt if he sees it like that.

The Handsomes' lives are settling, are little. Handsome feeds us updates between watering plants (hardly necessary after highly unseasonal downpour two nights ago: Global Warming?) and working on his shed, mostly meant for tools: but probably also to be used for housing dogs at night so that their barking won't keep guests awake. (We're more used to it. ) Mrs Handsome should come home soon. The unson-in-law having progressed from intensive care, via theatre to remove his knife blade, via high-input (or something like that) care, via ordinary ward, has been sent home to recuperate. But is suffering flashbacks and is not a happy man. No more night life for him. He even wants to move out of Blackburn.

We meantime have some quiet days before the guests arrive next week. Some cooking done, more writing, that's it. Granny had coffee with Attic Woman yesterday (very quiet; her only question, as usual, the whereabouts of Beloved) followed by lunch with her Bottle-blond friend. It was hot hot hot in Playa Blanca. Cooler up here.

Spain since the first of October has a new penal code which gives animals the same rights as humans and makes ill-treatment of them punishable by law. Let's hope it is no more inadequate than the law against the ill-treatment of wives. Same applies in UK, so don't be so smug, granny. xxxx