I took a nap this morning and woke to find one of the cats had been sick on the carpet of the tv room. It was not a morning for cleaning up cat vomit. No one told the cats this. So, down on my hands and knees, I scrubbed it all away. A few hours later one of the neighbour's spaniels, soaking and covered in mud, stormed into the kitchen and devoured the cats' dinner. This left the kitchen soaking and covered in mud. As I mopped, it occurred to me that without their dinner the cats would have nothing to vomit up.

Last night saw horse-racing and drinking but almost no sleep and patchy recollections. Today has been an effort in avoiding accomplishment: small escapes from responsibility - friends over for lunch, a nap, tidying - that waste away Sundays and leave pages unwritten. The price is that peculiar hangover anxiety that squeezes your ribs and makes your heart pound, like you've forgotten something terribly important, or missed something wonderful.

Adam's new hair.