Made it to yoga, first time for a few weeks, too many. Himself has gone to Goa - he's always fucking off on these yoga retreats he runs, always in places too hot for me, though I couldn't afford one anyway. The class was taken by my favourite other teacher, a woman with one of those rich, smiley voices (like Fern Britton or Sally Traffic off Radio 2), who is both older and fatter than me, which is relaxing for a start. She takes a very gentle class that still reaches everywhere, inside and out. Lovely.

The landline isn't working still and as my mobile doesn't get enough signal here for calls, that leaves me starting to feel a bit cut off.

We had our first fire tonight, lovely. This room is starting to feel like it could be my home - same old furniture. Reminds me of when I was a teenager, always moving around from one shabby room to another. I'd sellotape my posters to the wall (Bob Dylan, a few Salvador Dali, the Lady of Shalott), bung my Indian bedspread over the skanky mattress, Hunky Dory on the record player, skin up, and I was home.

I am grateful for: yoga; fire; a lie in; leftover Sunday dinner for dinner tonight; friends near and far

Laters xx