More tooth-grinding over insurance. It's gotten so complicated I can hardly follow it myself, so I hope the insurance company can grasp the fact that they still owe me £100. I got two cheques in the mail today, both £50 short. And no, it's not a coincidence: £50 is the policy excess, which they've already taken off.

I tried phoning but it was constantly engaged, so I sat down and wrote them a letter. I enclosed a copy of the letter I sent the inspection firm, and photocopies of the tear-off bits that came with the relevant cheques. The whole time I was doing this my irritation levels were rising. Why is this so HARD? Where's the good karma payoff from not cheating them over the rug? Why am I even bothering? If it had been just £50 I wouldn't have, probably. But the second extra £50 really got my goat.

At least I can go ahead and get the new flooring laid, that's something. Dougie's phoning me tomorrow with a date, and I have to pop in to the warehouse to check they've got the right laminate.

After all that -- and given that I was going in to work early -- there wasn't time for the gym. Oh, what a shame! I'm so stunningly lazy I'm almost ashamed of myself.

The weather this morning was stunning. There was a thick river fog that we get now and then, a freezing fog that left some hedges up on higher ground frosted all over. After it cleared it was brilliantly sunny, eye-achingly so. I feel as though I've been hibernating on days like this.

Tomorrow I'm taking the cat to the airport to meet her baldcat, who's been in Paris for a week. I haven't minded minding her, but I won't miss her litter tray. This is a cat who goes outside for half an hour then comes back inside to go to the toilet.

In the evening there's a farewell party at a pub in town for Davie, who plays Irish and Scottish music on the fiddle. That should be fun. He's off to New Zealand.