The jam did work ... it's a lovely flobberly jelly with a delicate flavour. A bit too delicate for toast, but I think it would be delicious spooned on to something bland like rice pudding. I would make more, but I've run out of jars.

Yesterday I went to the DIY shop in search of screws for the light switch in the kitchen -- the depth of the tiles made the existing screws too short. The only faceplate screws they had were extra-long, so when I got home I hunted out my vice and clamped the screws to the table (with a cork tablemat for protection) and hacksawed them down. Screwed the faceplate on, to discover that the tiler hadn't cut accurately and there's a biggish gap down the side of the switch. Groan. I hadn't bought any grout (to fill in some gaps where the tiles hit the worksurface) because the only waterproof one said it wasn't suitable for worktops. I had Bertie with me and he was fussing and fretting so I didn't go scouting around for sealant, which is probably what I want.

I'm also starting to think -- with a sinking feeling (hah!) -- that the grout the tiler used isn't waterproof. OK so I didn't specify, but wouldn't you think if you're tiling behind a kitchen sink ... gah. I give up. Anyway most of it is great, so I'm not complaining. Much.

Once again, after a busy day of shopping, dogwalking, DIY and housework, I was too knackered to go out. I'm determined to see Moulin Rouge in a cinema, not on video, so I really must make an effort. Thursday is my next day off. I should just go and book a ticket, force myself to go.

I ordered three records from Amazon (Vespertine by Bjork, Folk by Howie B and Creatures of Light and Dark by Jackie Leven), and the plan is to purchase and install a cheapo CD player in my car so I can listen to the new stuff en route to Polbain. I'm sick of playing tapes -- the quality is pish and you can't get a whole CD on a 90 minute tape. I'm not sure if I can copy audio CDs on my computer -- if so that'll be ideal, because I'll be able to copy loads and just leave them in the car.

Big musical trauma for Bertie this morning: SQ was hosting an all-day pipe band competition. Cue panic -- what is that NOISE? Is someone torturing hundreds of small animals? And the drums, the damned drums, will they never stop? There were bands everywhere, practising, performing, marching -- on the corner of our street next to the library, at the Binks, in the churchyard, in the supermarket car park, in the main street. Around every corner was a fresh horror, culminating in the worst imaginable: children playing bagpipes.

Then in the afternoon a shock for me. "I hear Bertie's been in trouble," said Sandy, one of the regular dog-walkers. I had visions of Bertie waiting until the sound of my car had died away before unlocking the door with the spare keys and heading out for some fun. Turns out that an old lady told Alan, another regular, that Bertie had "stood on" her Westie. And I did remember then one day meeting a woman with a Westie who snapped at me that I should have Bertie on a lead. It was a strange encounter because she never actually looked at me, just dragged her dog away. Poor Bertie, he loves making friends with other dogs, but mostly he somehow manages to offend either the dog or the owner or both.

Today he really excelled himself, barking manically at two (thankfully leashed) dogs, which Sandy told me in hushed tones were staffy-pitbull crosses. Oo er! Be nice, Bertie, there's a good boy. The dogs nearly pulled their owner off his feet trying get at Bertie.