I awoke in the family home to see a For Sale sign standing outside the front door.
No time to ponder this.
An early morning work shift, and then a light jog to the village pool where I first learnt to swim some 40 autumns ago.
Nothing had changed.
The pool was packed, the water temperature was spa like and the bloody 'village changing rooms' were bobbins.
But hey hoe.
There is no such thing as a bad swim.
A bit more work back at what remains of the family home, and then it was time to get suited and booted for a family funeral.
Some things just remain private.
But the Funeral Director did compliment me on my cravat.
I arrived back in what is left of the family home mid-afternoon for more work.
Gilles Petersen kept me company. It was all a little more uplifting that the funeral tunes.
Thursday evening was spent in the delightful company of the returning Detectorists on BBC4. Plus some Question Time twaddle.