I am tired this morning; just under eight hours is not enough sleep for me, especially on these hot days when I am awake early and up and about at half-five to open doors and windows before returning to bed and attempting to sleep. There is a marked and sudden increase in relative humidity this morning, indicating a change in the weather, or at least normally it might indicate a change. Today is likely to be almost as hot as yesterday, when it was over 30 degrees for a while. Perhaps more humid? We shall see.

Today will be my seventh day indoors and I can’t in all honesty say I have minded. I enjoy being at home. However, I am attempting to start a new routine of a weekly visit to town for market shopping and the pub. My attempt has failed, beaten in part by the weather and in part by finances.

I have a home inspection today so I must be on best behaviour. The estate agent appointed by my landlord and paid by me will ensure that I have not caused any damage and am keeping the house in reasonable order. It seems very sad that after 9 years of keeping a comfortable, tidy, well-furnished and clean home such inspections are deemed necessary. Whatever happened to an understanding of good character and trust? To continue such inspections suggests I might somehow experience a sudden change in personality and abandon my core values and, after keeping a good home for 50 years, suddenly descend into a preference for squalid living.

Not that I am bothered. In a strange sort of way I quite look forward to and almost enjoy the visits, which always end up with a vindication of sorts as the ‘inspector’ generally congratulates me on my style and taste. I do not need or ask for that sort of vindication – I find it embarrassing – but it is well intentioned and I accept it in that spirit.

Now that I am 70 years old I appear to have accepted the fact that I will never be a homeowner and therefore able to shape a home to my liking. There are only three ways that could happen: win a home, be gifted a home or win enough money to buy a home, and let’s face it, it ain’t gonna happen. The closest I came to feeling like I had a home of my own was my 10th. floor council flat in south London. A council property would be ideal, but that seems even less likely than winning a home!