I’m beginning to think that you can have too much of a good thing. Oh yes, I know this weather is lovely, but it’s not conducive to hard work — well at least not for me.

I find myself saying ‘Yes! yes! I will do that when it gets a little cooler’, to which Andrew, my son, replies ‘For heaven’s sake! Make up your mind. All winter you have been saying you would do it when it got a little warmer’.

But, let’s face it, is there ever a right time for all those unpleasant jobs?

n The farmer has been hard at work cutting the meadow and now the cut grass is all packed up in huge black bags dotted about the field like the droppings from some extra-large elephant.

I liked it much better when they were stacked in stooks, as it was pleasing to the eye but, of course, it’s different now that we are in the mechanical age.

I bet the farmer is very glad about that, though I still think their job is one of the hardest as it is governed not by inclination but by season and weather.

n Wakes week. I recall that when working in the paper mill the anticipation of Blackburn holiday week was so very strong and a high point of our year.

Now that I can go whenever I like, they have lost that excitement and novelty.

Of course it could be the age factor, because I can’t believe I even found myself thinking ‘do I really want to go?’ n A friend sent me a little poem this week, in a way it was a sort of rebuke, which, in retrospect I probably deserved, as for the past week I have been moaning about the constant buzzing in my head.

The poem is called ‘The world is mine’ and it says, in a very poetic way, that if you can see, hear and have all your faculties then indeed the world is yours, so not another word about this damned tinnitus, except to say thank you for your kind support.