Up to the smoke again. Working on the Defenders of Guernsey on the way up. But seemed to have sprung from the wrong side of bed this morning, and felt vile and tetchy all day. Not that the day's events helped, with clarity about what Jules and I should be working on hard to come by.

Late to leave work. Missed the train by a second, having to arrest my gallop on board due to crowd of small children suddenly underfoot. Galled by this and prompted to some John Cleese style ranting on the platform. Galled too, after waiting tetchily for the next train, by the woman I made room for to sit next to me in the crowded train, who held my glove disgustedly between her manicured fingernails. Read the Primo Levi book on the way home. An interesting book, as much for its form as its content.

Home and Lorraine had been painting parts of the living room white, a great improvement, as the wall was a species of cream with patches of dirty white.  Lorraine is on holiday and I feel a little bad about this, and she had cooked too. I was late home but treated royally.  L and I did a bad thing though, and ate a entire large bar of chocolate. I am the sort of person who forgets how nice chocolate is, and usually only have some at christmas. L is bad and has cravings for it, thus reminding me about chocolate. Once I start eating a few squares I have little or no self-restraint. Chocolate, I decided, going to bed early, is a kind of self harming like cigarettes.

Sold another Guernsey Double through Amazon. Sales are slow but persistent.