Monday

Grief is the Thing with Fur. Herbert Hound died in our arms at home at 4.11pm on Sunday, 6 April, bathed in love and sunshine. We had hoped he would live longer. Maybe to the end of the summer. But his prostate cancer had spread to his bladder and urethra and he faded very fast. By his final weekend, he could barely pee or poo and would only nibble on a slice of ham. All he really wanted to do was lie down and sleep next to where we were sitting. We took him for one last walk – more of a slow dawdle, as his movement was limited – to his favourite part of the woods on Tooting Bec Common, where he got to sniff the smells for one last time. For the rest of the time, we just held and stroked him and told him how much he was loved. The vet came at 4pm to administer the injections and we sat with him for an hour before his body was collected by the cremation team.

It was one of the most painful things I have ever done. It’s also a very different kind of grief to that I feel for my mother. The death of a parent – especially one with Alzheimer’s – is the final separation in a life full of separations from infancy onwards. With Herbie, there had never been much separation. It was an uncomplicated relationship. He liked doing what we did and we liked doing what he did. There were never any regrets, no expectations that went unmet. He taught us every bit as much as we taught him. He was the embodiment of unconditional love, bringing out the best in everyone he met. Even those who weren’t that keen on dogs. I miss him terribly. The house feels less than a house without him. Sometimes, I think I catch sight of him out of the corner of my eye, sitting in his favourite spot at the bottom of the stairs. I do a double take only to see the outline he wore away on the carpet. I still call his name when I come in the front door. It feels wrong not to. The other day, I discovered his towel at the bottom of the laundry basket and burst into tears. There have been so many tears. Next Thursday is my event at the Bloomsbury theatre in London – still a handful of tickets available, so please do come. Though it may be hard for me to get through without crying.

Tuesday

It looked to me a bit like doughnutting off the back of a billionaire’s superyacht. An 11-minute adrenaline ride on the world’s most expensive boy’s toy. But for Jeff Bezos’s fiancee Lauren Sánchez, the singer Katy Perry, TV host Gayle King and three other women, the blink-and-you-miss-it trip to the edge of space in the Amazon boss’s Blue Origin rocket was somehow the ultimate expression of the feminist ideal. A triumph for women everywhere. Let’s try to think this one through. None of the six “astronauts” – AKA the backseat passengers on a fully automated spacecraft – had been through any rigorous selection procedure. The only criteria was that they were all close friends of Jeff. Nor was there any point to the trip. No new scientific ground was being broken. This was just a pleasure ride. They might as well have taken over Thorpe Park for the day.

As the rocket reached its highest point of 66 miles above the Earth’s surface, one woman could be heard saying over the radio, “I love you, Jeff Bezos”. I’m not sure this is what my mother would have called feminism. But each to their own. King reported back that her highlight of the trip had been to hear Perry sing What a Wonderful World. You wonder why she bothered. She could have done that on the ground. Sánchez said she was so proud of all the crew. For doing what, exactly? Sitting down and looking out of the window? She also said that the Earth looked quiet but alive. Mystic Lauren. But pride of place went to Perry for saying she had prepared for the trip by reading up on string theory. I hope she had more luck in understanding it than I did when I read Stephen Hawking. Then again, Perry also felt she had a connection with the stars because she was interested in astrology. Perhaps Scorpios make the best astronauts? “What you’re doing is really finding the love for yourself,” she concluded. “I’m really feeling that divine feminine right now.” Bezos will be laughing all the way to the bank.

Wednesday

The government announcement last Friday that parliament was being recalled from recess on a Saturday for the first time since the Falklands war in 1982 caught me on the hop. I had to hastily revise my weekend plans to make sure I was in the press gallery to sketch the proceedings as emergency legislation was pushed through parliament inside a day. The Labour benches were packed. The opposition benches, not so much. Only about 20 Conservative MPs had broken off their holidays to head back to London. I guess they thought this was Labour’s problem.

This week, it was also announced that the government had found and paid for the fuel to keep the Scunthorpe furnaces open so, for the time being at least, the future of British Steel is secure. Now I know the government has had lots of other things to do, but even after all this, it still isn’t immediately clear to me why the government needed to take emergency action with a recall of parliament. After all, it wasn’t as if it had had no warning that British Steel was reaching crisis point. In the past few weeks leading up to the Easter break, there had been two urgent questions on the Scunthorpe steelworks in the Commons along with backbench questions at PMQs. On every occasion, the government had said everything was in hand and that they had made a generous offer which they believed it would be irrational for the Chinese owners, Jingye, to refuse. And each time, several MPs had suggested the government was being naive. That Jingye was a proxy for the Chinese state and might well see a strategic advantage in forcing the closure of virgin steelmaking in a G7 trading rival. It was only after parliament stopped for Easter that the penny dropped for the business secretary, Jonathan Reynolds. The Chinese sceptics had a point.

Thursday

Forgive me for feeling somewhat underwhelmed. At the weekend, JD Vance told an interviewer there was a good chance of a US-UK trade deal. “The president really loves the United Kingdom,” he said. “He loved the queen. He admires and loves the king. It is a very important relationship.” Mmm. Not sure King Charles feels the same way but he’s well enough behaved to do whatever is necessary. Kissing the orange ring. Charles must be dreading the state visit – or “fest” as Donald Trump is calling it – in September, every bit as much as most of the country is. Today, several media outlets are reporting the deal could be done within three weeks. But, before we get too excited about any special treatment, it should be pointed out we will be in the second wave of deals after Japan, India and South Korea. There are also limits to what we have been told we can expect. Trump isn’t about to waive the 10% tariff on all goods we export to the US: if we’re very lucky, the president may cut us a little slack on steel tariffs. Truly, he spoils us. Then again, he could throw a wobbly if we do any kind of deal with our biggest trading partner, the EU. Just as Keir Starmer is seeking to align with Brussels over carbon levies. Nor would British farmers thank the government if allowing imported food produced to a lower quality was a precondition for any deal with the US.

So a UK-US trade deal may not be the gamechanger that it’s cracked up to be. Not least because there’s every chance Agent Orange could change his mind within days of signing an agreement. Only a few weeks ago, the Brexiters were congratulating themselves on the UK being hit with 10% tariffs – the same as the penguins of Heard Island – while the EU faced a 20% levy. Not long after, the president reduced EU tariffs to 10%. The Donald is not a reliable trading partner. He does not operate in good faith. The only deals in which he is interested are ones where he is the clear winner. We should be careful.

Friday

Up until last night, the best entertainment Spurs had served up this season had been off the pitch. In the last month or so, Tottenham chat groups had been buzzing over claims from the manager, Ange Postecoglou, that details of team meetings had been leaked to the media. The biggest mystery was what Ange thought should have remained secret. It can’t have been tactics as they don’t really have any, other than to trot around aimlessly, as anyone who has had the misfortune to be a season-ticket holder this year will testify. Unless the plan has been to lose as many Premier League games as possible. Only Spurs have managed to lose at home to both Ipswich and Leicester. And, if the manager has been trying to persuade the players to try a bit harder, then it clearly hasn’t worked. Now that they can’t be relegated, the Tottenham players seem to have already given up on the Premier League. All of which has been obvious to any observer. So I’m excited to learn what wisdom from Ange has reached the media.

Last night, though, Spurs showed they can play when they can be bothered by beating Eintracht Frankfurt in Germany to reach the semi-finals of the Europa League. It was a performance completely out of character with their league form. One that offered hope Spurs could actually win something for the first time in more than 15 years. A cup would be very welcome, but wouldn’t cover up the cracks at the club. I’ve been coming to White Hart Lane for decades and this has been the most joyless season I can remember. Getting relegated back in the 1970s was more fun than this.