There is a builder working on the empty house next door. He started early this morning, disturbing my Saturday lie-in. I was out last night, and my eyes are gummed up, my mouth dry; I could do with another hour. I can hear muffled thumps through the walls, and every so often the rasping and whining of a power drill. I put on my dressing gown, go down to the kitchen and fill the kettle. He has moved outside into the back yard, and through the open windows I can hear him whistling above the knocking. The tune of the moment is In the Mood by Glenn Miller and his big band. The builder is giving it the full works, doing the trombone and trumpet parts as well as the melody. It is a faultless performance: note perfect, brilliant, and infectious.

I sip my tea. The day is looking brighter.