Gale turning southerly, rain.

Bad weather, glad I'm not homeless tonight.

But the thought that things could be so very much worse hasn't fixed everything here; Iris says "breastfeed not working" and is thirstily wakeful. I'm having a cup of tea and trying not to feel failure. Maybe she'll be asleep before I swig the dregs, maybe this is the end of four years feeding. I can but wait and see, they tell me tomorrow is another day.

... and after the cuppa and a bit of mammalian gazing at the young animal and grooming her fur apparently my pituitary gland realised what was going on and produced the right hormones.