I introduce a feature to the chicken enclosure.

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“It shouldn’t take me long, honest,” I tell the LTLP.

For a while, Short Tony and I have been talking about constructing a special door to allow the chickens out to play in the woods. Now that the weather is more DIY friendly, we have decided to grasp this particular nettle by the horns, and even now Short Tony is standing beside the back fence brandishing an electric drill.

The LTLP gives me her ‘there are about 10000 DIY jobs that need doing and that have needed doing for ages and that I have been going on and on at you to do but that you haven’t done because you say that you have been too busy whereas now you seem to have all the time in the world to create some ridiculous and unnecessary piece of engineering for the chickens who you love more than I do it seems well I am not going to say anything but frankly I am not impressed’ look.

I shrug weakly. I am a bit intimidated that she is able to condense all those particular facts and feelings into one single look, although it cannot be denied that it is handy for the narrative.

“It won’t take us long,” I insist. “And you will understand when it is finished. All we need to do is to somehow rig up some clever door or hatch arrangement which will let them through to the woods. Then they can go and peck about to their little hearts’ content, before slipping back through when it’s their bedtime.”

I give her a reassuring pat on the arm.

“Plus with our DIY skills we will be creating a classy and interesting feature for the garden, creating a practical yet aesthetically pleasing focal point that will sit in harmony with its surroundings and add value to the setting,” I add.

I peer-review a scientific presentation.

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The LTLP turns to me. “Can you just have a look at it and make sure there are no obvious mistakes?”

She gives me her ‘I might regret this’ look, that I remember from the Registry Office.

I nod readily. I have always enjoyed helping the LTLP with her science and stuff, and it is always very important to peer review data as espoused by people like famous media scientist Ben Goldacre etc. She is off to do sciencey things in Bristol, and has to take a PowerPoint presentation with her.

I study the slides. To be honest, it is all quite advanced stuff, about science, which you would not understand. I query some of her data.

“Look, I just want you to tell me if there are any obvious spelling mistakes that I’ve missed,” she says.

“I am just trying to undertand the whole, and look at the entire presentation with a holistic approach,” I reply, giving a diagram a critical look. “Now be quiet. It is difficult to check your work when there are distractions.”

Ice crystals form in the atmospheric interval between us.

“Look, I’m sorry I asked now.”

I wave her away. “I am almost finished,” I reply.

I finish checking the presentation with my scientific eye.

“It looks very good to me,” I report, turning to her. “It seems clear and to the point, and there are few of the distractions that you often see on PowerPoint documents. As far as I can establish, the science is sound. However, looking at this slide, I am afraid that the graph looks a bit like a cock.”

“You what?” she replies.

“This graph here,” I indicate. “Where the bell curve thing is quite narrow, and then you have ringed the points at each end. It looks a bit like a cock.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

“I guess my suggestion would be to consider expanding the x axis so that the curve is broader and less tall, and then it would be a little less -”

“Just give it here,” she snaps.

I drive to the West Midlands.

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Cars. Industry. Unusual regional accents on the radio.

It is a sinister place. You have to pay to use the motorway. I drive on to the M6 (Toll) in some confusion.

The carriageways are empty and I speed up towards the Lichfield area apace. Honestly, I pass the odd fellow motorist, but it is like driving on Mars. There are literally no cars on the road.

It is not surprising. At five pounds a pop, they will never tempt people out of their houses and on to the roads.

I simply cannot understand the mentality behind the government that thought this one up. It is typical public sector incompetence and the sort of thing that Mr Cameron must address if he gets in. They just have no commercial nous at all. If they charged – say – a pound, then they may have a chance of getting people to abandon their Playstations etc and go for a nice drive, but five pounds is just crazy. No wonder people are abandoning motoring in droves. It is as if they are actively trying to stop people from using cars.

I motor on in increasing annoyance.

My meeting, which is about dogs, goes well. I do not have a dog and am allergic to them, but I use my imagination to think up things that are probably relevant to the dog community. That is the sort of professional that I am. I almost stroke one of the dogs, but it looks a bit bitey so I give it a reassuring stare instead.

Again there are no cars on the toll road on my return. It is lunacy. Everybody is a lunatic except me.

We sit on the sofa.

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The Channel 4 comedy gala programme plays on the television. Some acts are funnier than others.

“Last night,” begins the LTLP, “I woke up and really needed a wee.”

I nod.

“But I didn’t go in the end,” she concludes.

There is silence. The conversation is closed. We continue to watch the comedy programme.