It's nearly half past two and I have eaten precisely one orange today, on top of the pint (Imperial) of coffee that is my normal breakfast. I have been sorting out printer problems and doing admin crap that ran overdue because the printer was having problems.

I cannot for the life of me figure out why the printer just stopped communicating wirelessly with the desktop computer, which is a perfectly sound and healthy Mac. I could do AirPrint with both the phone and the iPad, but the computer was shut out completely. Consequently, I ended up moving half the contents of the study so the printer could hook up to the computer by Ethernet cable without tripping people. Then I had to check all the printer- and scanner-related software ... Yikes!

The house is a little less filthy than it was yesterday at this time since I got out the vacuum cleaner and tackled the rugs. The kitchen floor needs washing before Thursday, when my in-laws from Windsor will see it, but it's not urgent yet. The countdown to train time on Friday has begun. I have already packed the funerary urn and the documents I need for the cemetery in a sturdy gym bag, along with Edmund's cap and medals. The Order of Service booklet is out for layout and printing. The new cat-sitter is lined up.

The diet is going surprisingly well. I have not had any episodes of mad craving or collapsed exhaustion lately, suggesting that I'm getting more of something I needed more of. The missing link is probably protein, closely followed by fats, since the biggest changes are the shift to whole milk (and drinking lots of it), and deliberately increasing the amount of meat (usually chicken), eggs and fish I eat. Another pound or two and I'll be into a smaller size in trousers.

An 11-year-old bottle of Chilean chardonnay turned up in the cellar the other day, and I was surprised to find that it was very drinkable despite being almost twice as old as chardonnay really should get. It had a screw-cap instead of a cork, which is probably why. A not-quite-so-elderly gewurtztraminer located in the same sweep had lost much of its charm when I popped the cork; I really should have poured it down the sink instead of feeding it to my friend Rose, but I could not quite bring myself to do it. So now I'm going through the racks of whites to find the oldest bottles and schedule them for immediate drinking.

Yeah, I know. This isn't just a First World problem; it's a Fat-Cat problem.