It's 8pm. I've just finished eating, and the dogs are desperate for their final walk of the day.
A light rain is falling, so I wrap myself in my ancient 'ratting' Barbour, pull on my gumboots, and we set off for a short 'emptying' walk.
We don't go far, it's too wet so we turn and make for home. I see a whisp of smoke coming from the chimney of a distant cottage. I smile and call the over-energetic dogs to heel; they ignore me.
Once back indoors, they settle in front of the blazing stove; curled up side by side, licking each other. I pour myself a glass of wine, draw the curtains, and lie back on the sofa.
It's so quiet, and I wonder how things will be in 25 or even 50 years. Will the cottage still be a place of calm, will my view from the terrace still be unhindered, will life be anything like it is today?
The dogs are sleeping with their arms around each other, and once again I smile. Occasionally life doesn't get much better.