Slow life? Small life.

Sometimes I post pictures of the cats because almost nothing has happened in my day. Some days, like today, I have spoken to no one, except for a brief and harassed phone call from friend Rose, confirming that she won't be here on Thursday because she'll be in Cyprus. And that set me off wanting - yearning, even - to go somewhere, anywhere, as long as it wasn't here.

Any of these would be nice:

Although I am endlessly amused and fascinated by my little team, I know that not everyone finds them so absorbing. Instead, I could be blogging about much more interesting and worthy things, demonstrating my acute grasp of today's political agenda, home and abroad, my skills in diverse areas such as translating the Tales of Beatrix Potter into Esperanto, advanced clog dancing, invisible mending, and turning that bottom drawer of the fridge into sustaining and attractive plates of food. But I doubt if I'd be believed, though I'm not sure why. I'm sure I could do those things if I put my mind to it.

Sometimes even I feel slightly uncomfortable about how little I do in a day. But sloth and indolence, they just take up so much time! So this morning I determined that I would do something to make a difference in every room in the house. I would never go up or downstairs empty-handed; I would tidy up after myself. Such a noble resolution! So easy to be distracted from it! So easy to leave your duster, like your glasses, somewhere else, and to find that all you actually carry up and downstairs is a cup of tea.

But today was fairly productive, even if the sitting room hasn't been dusted yet or the spare bed changed. I made these:

Rough oatcakes, wheat-free. First time I have tried this recipe, found online (sorry, whoever posted it - I forgot to copy the source when I saved it). Very nice too, although the look is more breeze block than Black Isle. I made some cherry and almond cupcakes for tomorrow's visitor. I walked the dog, I wrote some emails, and I cleaned the hob within an inch of its life. That's quite a lot, isn't it? For a retired sloth?

Meantime, there was a bloodless coup. Twice. The poor dog, who has two seats, found that she has been deposed from both, simultaneously.

She quivered, looking imploringly at me to tip the beanbag thief off. But the dog is quite old enough to do her own tipping.

Hamish drew in his chin and stayed put. The dog moved to her other seat, the Neighbourhood Watch one:

And quivered some more. Another usurper. It's a small life, and a homely one, but instead of furniture polish, it reeks of power struggles.

Tomorrow we shall find something useful to do.