If I had a moment of feminist flag flying when I signed up to the ladies singles tennis championships at the gym, that flag is currently at half-mast. As I’ve lost comprehensively to the first two elite, top female players, I try to remind myself that it’s not about the winning or losing but about showing up and giving it a go. It’s not easy when you keep getting battered though. Then you get the kind, ‘the score doesn’t reflect the play’ post-match commiseration. Maybe not. But that’s no consolation to being clobbered. I did manage to win the third match I played though, which was a salve to my bruised ego. It took two 90 minute bouts to do it, but I got there in the end.

It’s a beautiful day. Golden and warm. The bees are out making the most of it. I’ve put bird seed out, and cleaned Pam and Carol’s hen house. Dolly and I went on a walk earlier through the Herbert Plantation in Burghclere funghi spotting. Some very weird and wonderful ones today. I take photos to share with fellow funghi friends, and then try to identify them with a new Collins book I bought, but it’s very hard. I would love to go on a proper funghi walk where an expert tells you what everything is. One day.

Eddie is up the scaffolding painting William’s windows which have just been replaced with a bespoke double-glazed upgrade. I wanted to go up and take a photo across the square, but my fear of heights got the better of me. I’ll have to delegate that one to Eddie. William’s at work behind the counter at Waitrose, James is holding the fort in Camps Menswear. I sit and look out on the undulating hills of laundry and washing up that stretch out as far as I can see. Dolly dust bunnies gently float across the kitchen tiles, and towels festoon the chinese laundries like limp white ghosts waiting for Halloween.

I think I’ll try and get up. Time for a cuppa.