Yesterday we rose at dawn and arrived in Belfast at half 2. From there we drove west, stopping in Enniskillen where we sat in the carpark of McDonald's, scarfing burgers and fries while an African man yelled into his mobile in the neighbouring car: "You have betrayed the family! I will never speak to you again!" Just back in town we queued for half an hour for the wake of a local man who had been ill with Alzheimer's for a long time. After washing our faces, we watched the Ireland-Scotland rugby match with in-laws. By bedtime the shock of the familiar, with all its sometimes overwhelming urgency, had worn off, although I was very worried about the dog.

When we finally arrived home, Sam had squealed, trembling on his hind legs and staggering around us in circles with sad eyes, looking as if he didn't know what to do. Then he wanted to go upstairs to his perch in the sitting room, without a backward look at us. I thought he was disgusted with us. But he has been having ups and downs since we left. Lively and playful one minute, lethargic and uninterested the next. Obviously he is going to the vet tomorrow.

Today I've been reading a book al fresco (it has been unseasonably warm in Ireland, in a year of unseasonable weather) while Sam lies on his bed at my feet. If I can't give him comfort from his unknown physical ailments, at least I can give him company.

<<