The script meeting between Gary and Craig and me didn’t go ahead as Gary was unavailable for some reason, so I had a rare early night. It had originally been my intention to catch up with some writing for the pilot and do some other bits of work catching up, but at the end of the day I couldn’t be bothered. Instead we did what people should do at the end of the day and went to bed.

At about nine o’clock this morning I was woken up and can vaguely remember Mandi telling me that she was going shopping and that I had promised Jack a good run around the park to make him feel better. He’s been a bit down just lately and I wondered if he might be depressed, so I set aside Saturday morning to spend as long as he wanted to spend playing in the park and throwing his ball for him to chase. The last thing I remember is Mandi’s plea for me not to fall back to sleep again as she was going to prepare me a special lunch. Jack curled up next to me on the bed and the next thing I remember is Jack barking at the door. At first I thought it was the postman as Saturday’s mail is supposedly earlier than in the week. I soon realised that it was Mandi returning from shopping and that it was half past eleven. Shit. Even after so much sleep I still felt groggy and would have quite happily curled up and slept all day to try and catch up given that I was on a roll. When one of the household needs to go outside to use the toilet though, it isn’t an option. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt that I pulled out of the wash basket, (I could see that it was raining quite a lot so figured there wouldn’t be any point putting on something clean to have to dump it straight in the wash when I returned), we headed out. The best part of an hour was spent in the pouring rain and it was just what we needed. I love watching Jack running around without his lead and with neither of us caring about the soaking we were getting we were just able to enjoy ourselves. Jack doesn’t like walking in the rain or walking in puddles but as long as he has the grass beneath his feet and no lead on he is oblivious to the elements. Once we were home again I dried Jack with the hairdryer before I had a shower, I had no intention of turning the computer on so I was totally unaware of any messages that might have come in. the kitchen was off limits to me while Mandi’s special meal was underway, so I hit the sofa with the latest book I’m reading (Can I Have Your Attention Please: The Autobiography by James Corden) and Pick Of The Pops on the radio.

When I was finally allowed in to the kitchen, Mandi had prepared a full English breakfast with tea and fresh orange juice. It looked an absolute delight and of course tasted like Heaven on a plate, assuming there is such a thing as Heaven, which there isn’t. Aware of my usual gripes when eating breakfast in a café, Mandi had managed to nip all of my complaints in the bud; beans and tomatoes because you shouldn’t have to chose, bacon fried not grilled, and everything piled high on the plate. The only things missing were black pudding and hash browns, but the bacon, eggs, mushrooms, fried bread, sausages, beans and tomatoes were there. It didn’t bother me that the beans and tomatoes were next to each other, as that has never worried me, there was bread to mop up the plate with too. The fresh orange juice is vital of course because if you down a couple of glasses after a fry up it acts like a drain unblocker for your body, clearing your pipe work of grease and fat and leaving your insides unscathed by a supposedly unhealthy meal.

During our breakfast we had fun talking about my various food ‘rules’. We’ve been together long enough for Mandi to know my ways and although she made herself a jug of coffee she knew that it would have ruined the whole breakfast if I’d have been given coffee instead of tea; coffee is only acceptable after a Sunday roast. Butter shouldn’t go anywhere near bread that is going to be used with fried food (anyone having butter on a bacon sandwich should be sent to prison – the only exception is a chip butty, the rules are complicated), and if anyone tries to introduce anything other than full fat milk into our house they will be buried in the garden.

We lazed on the sofa and watched South Pacific while eating sweets. Mandi told me that I am the only straight man she has ever known who enjoys musicals. I was singing along to ‘There Ain’t Nothing Like A Dame’ at the time.

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