Patriotism is not enough: we need stronger supports for our flags. On our way from London to Kent the M20 was closed by a fire in a lorry and the traffic was diverted on to the M2. The journey that normally takes one and three quarter hours took us three hours. Bumper to bumper, we had plenty of time to study the grass verges of the motorway and observe that every fifty yards, or less, was a flag of St. George – broken off the speeding cars that previously sported them.

How did the sparrow get into the kitchen overnight? The doors were locked and there is no chimney. I suspect that Cat (or Cat) brought the bird in through the cat flap and then dropped it.

The bluebells and the irises have gone but the cornflowers and lavender (blue-ish) have taken over and there is a great field of linseed. I love delphiniums but for some reason we haven’t got any. I must put that right.

I spent the whole morning in bed, reading, writing, telephoning and pondering my destiny. And why not? I deserve it. My last day off (weekends included) was nine weeks ago. I enjoy my work but I also enjoy the rest.

At this particular time of year I actually enjoy my two mile run round the lanes in the early morning. The pleasure has nothing to do with the running itself – which is as demanding as ever – and everything to do with the sight of the briar roses and the smell of the honeysuckle in the hedgerows.

At half past midnight we were driving down the valley road on our way to the cottage and there was a fox lying down in the middle of the road, presumably basking on the tarmac still warm from a long hot day.

When the sun had eventually gone down, I closed the French windows to my study from the inside and, of course, there was Cat (or possibly Cat) on the wrong side. They would set off the burglar alarm. She (and she) get everywhere.

East Kent is a lovely place. I love it as much as Mid-Wales or the Pennines, Perthshire or the Cotswolds. Central London is my base but it isn’t the only place in the world. In Kent I have some very close friends east of the Medway, just as in London I have friends north of Hyde Park or south of the River Thames. I go to Glyndebourne five or six times a year and that is miles from anywhere.

My work as a counsellor is the same in South Kensington as it is in Nonington. My work as a doctor would be different in Kent but I would find something to make it special. Wherever I go and whatever I do, I take myself with me. I am happy with me most of the time nowadays.

I heard a jackdaw this morning. A pair of jackdaws used to live in one of the chimneys but their nest blocked it up and we got smoked out of the cottage when we lit a fire. Now we have wire mesh over the chimneys to prevent the jackdaws building a nest again but I am glad to see that they haven’t gone away altogether.

One spouse bowed to the patient’s demand to go home. Another spouse said that unless the patient returns for treatment the relationship is over. Both spouses were in Meg’s family group together so both received the same support. Having the courage to confront the madness of addiction is exceedingly difficult. Hoping that love will find a way is a forlorn hope against those odds.