I am now waiting for the report from my buyers’ building inspector, and coming to terms with the fact that I may not get moved before Thanksgiving. The buyers still don’t have their house on the market. They say they will “soon”.

By some measures, Christmas is “soon”.

Meanwhile, I continue to live as low-contact as possible in my own home, rather as I did in barracks as a newbie in the service, perpetually in anticipation of an NCO’s critical scrutiny.

The weather is delightful: hot but not stinking hot. Stratford is at its leafy loveliest, bursting with bloom, theatre-goers and tourists. Downtown parking is frustratingly rare, and gaggles of people with large tote bags block the sidewalk on the main drags. The bank is across the street from our very picturesque town hall and within a block of two of the Stratford Festival’s four theatres, so I go there only on foot. I’m very grateful I don’t have a downtown job.

My Fitbit watch stopped cooperating with the other gadgets a few days ago and yesterday refused to charge its battery, so I declared it dead and replaced it with an Apple watch. The Apple Store takes trade-ins, so my old iPhone, a 13 with a dicky battery, lowered the price to about par with a new Fitbit. The Apple watch has useful functions the Fitbit lacks, such as a thing that calls 911 if I fall and get hurt badly enough that I can’t cancel. As one who suffers at least one fall on ice each winter, I like that feature.