Mabel. Playing cat and mouse. She likes her mouse on a leash. Given her way, she’d have me on a leash as well.

Mabel’s been training me to say good morning to her properly. She presents herself to me, wants the chin scratch *and* the skull massage delivered as quickly as possible so that she can go downstairs and get down to the serious business of breakfast.

Waited for Vladimir and Estragon. It was worth it. Very worth it. Even though they’re still waiting. For Godot.

I think the sheer joy of soft boiled eggs with “soldiers” is way underestimated. A breakfast that’s easy, simple and familiar to many. Rye toast may be a modern variation but is worth it.

One of my favourite hidden spots in the areas around Windsor, Eton and Datchet

Most weekends, for at least one meal we use leftovers with a fresh staple. Today it’s jacket potatoes. So I get to make a relish. This one is a personal favourite: fresh chillies, coriander leaves/stems, onions, radish, soy, tomato. Riffing off Jhal Moori, a touch of mustard oil.

I went to see the Beckett play (for about the third time) only last week. Really enjoyed reading this. ….. Waiting for a feature called Godot thomasotter.substack.com/p/waiting-for-…

Mabel. Looking longingly at the wasp that’s rattling at the upper reaches of the kitchen window. Said wasp is no more. Didn’t survive the encounter with Mabel a few minutes after I took this shot.

The latest from Wooden City open.substack.com/pub/woodencity…

This practice of opt-in by default for new forms of privacy invasion is questionable to say the least. And yet it’s being normalised. Best way to drive people like me away.

Got a lovely mint copy of this wonderful book during my wanderings today

Mabel doing her Kato impression. Ready to attack as I come down for breakfast. She’s already been given her breakfast so she feels “attack” can be on the menu. Bite the hand that feeds her? Why ever not? What else are hands for?

Mabel visits Lily’s grave

A chance to look at Mabel’s colouring as it evolves. She seems likely to have some Bengal in her, but I’m no expert. Her mother looked just like her. Her siblings are all ginger.

Mabel rolls up to say good morning to me. And to all of you.

Sitting underneath the ancient yew. Mabel playing at my feet. A decent cup of tea in front of me. Autumn sunshine. No deeds to do, no promises to keep. In complete solitude for the next 14 hours. Except for Mabel, who refuses to be counted. The Revolution will not be Classified.

Mabel shows off her art of hiding in plain sight.

Frames on Cricinfo that filled me with joy. Seeing “Rest Day” show up in a Test scoreboard. Reading about 44 young hopefuls playing Duleep Trophy in India, one of two major red-ball tournaments underpinning the Test infrastructure. Healthy Test teams need red ball infrastructure

When you can’t beat them, take a nap. Mabel decides to chill while I listen to the football.

My father. He’d be 94 today. Here, he’s 18, about to leave for university. WWII has just ended, the Bengal famine is over, as are the partition riots; India has just become independent: a whole new world awaits. A pensive, sensitive young man on the cusp of immense change.