I'm in danger of turning into a real life version of Ria from Butterflies - remember that programme? (You won't if you're under forty) - wafting vacantly around, having vague existential angst and cooking soggy souffles. Although I'm not falling in love with a tubby businessman I see jogging in the park. There aren't many tubby businessmen about on the barracks. There are a few intimidatingly fit young soldiers, but none of whom, I suspect would be remotely interested in my soggy souffles, either literally or metaphorically. Today, I'm at home, waiting for a dishwasher delivery and finding reasons not to dust the upstairs of the house and sort out the washing pile. Maybe I'll channel my inner Ria later and attempt a souffle....