Why is it that almost every single morning halfway through my journey into work, the biggest men or women always plonk themselves down next to me, trapping me into my seat? By the time I arrive at my destination, either my leg's gone asleep, or I've got a kink in my neck; and I may have felt all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the start of my journey, but by the time I stumble from the carriage I generally feel all crumpled and dejected...Have I mentioned how much I hate commuter trains?

But leaving that aside for now, there's some good news to relate: Mick's been accepted into catering college. They rang him with the news last Friday and the boy's elated. He's currently in preparatory school for university, has no real trouble keeping up with the curriculum, but he's just not interested in pursuing an academic career and has been slacking off for the last year. A few months ago, we sat him down and asked him what he really wanted to do, and he told us he'd like to be a chef, which came as no surprise. He's been experimenting with food since he first learnt to make his own sandwiches, and he prepares the meals in his (strictly vegetarian) household several times a week. So we sent off for some brochures, gathered information, and then Mick applied to two schools; one turned him down flat, to his immense disappointment, but the interview for the second clearly went much better and he can start there at the end of August. And as I happen to count a few chefs among my acquaintances, it shouldn't be too difficult to get him some practical experience of working in a chef's kitchen, either. Ah! I can see it now: my nephew, the next Jamie Oliver!

Speaking of food and kitchens, I think I'll go down to the canteen and see whether there's still some croissants left for breakfast.