I have relocated. The night desk now operates from the floor beside the soft chair. The view is, I find, the correct one.
18:40 — The Woman is in the chair, under the blanket. I take up position on the rug. I am not asked to. A correspondent knows his post and goes to it.
19:05 — The youth arrives at speed. Winnie conducts a full inspection of the area, finds it excellent, announces this several times, and settles. I do not comment on the volume. It is, in its way, a reassuring sound. One always knows where Winnie is, which is a thing I have decided to be glad of.
20:12 — The Bald Man brings the hot leaf water. He turns the lamp down to its low setting. He does not turn me out. He rests a hand on my back on the way past, briefly, the way he does. He and I have an understanding. We have never needed to go into it.
21:30 — Nothing has happened. I wish to be clear, for the record, that this is the report. Nothing happening is, on certain evenings, the entire good news, and I have logged it accordingly.
22:00 — She is asleep in the chair. The blanket is doing its work. Winnie is doing her work, which is to be a second and smaller blanket. I remain at my post. I do not bark. I never bark. I keep the watch — it is a job I have given myself, and I intend to keep it for as long as it wants keeping.
Report concludes. The night was quiet. Everyone was where they should be, which is to say: here. It was, on balance, a good one.