Welcome to DITL of a freelance translator, where we attempt to answer the question “What do translators do all day?”

This week’s diary is by Paul Appleyard, an award-winning French<>English interpreter and translator who works in a basement in Surrey and likes cheese. Let’s find out how his day went…

A day in the life of a Paul.

Not all days are the same, obviously, especially when I’m interpreting elsewhere, but here’s how I spent the last day of April.

The nights at this time of year are a complete delight. We might well live in the middle of the town, but it’s a very leafy area, with a lung of mature trees spreading right into the centre of town along the railway line. This means that nights, particularly at this time of year, are punctuated by the sounds of wildlife activity, with owls and foxes, as well as the odd badger or deer, clearly audible through the dark hours, replaced as dawn approaches by birdsong. It really brings to life the image of sleeping in nature’s cradle, and I swear I sleep better, rocked by the noises of life and activity going on around me.

More specifically, I’m quite a light sleeper, and will know if there’s a problem with the trains without even opening my eyes, simply by the sounds of the trains rattling (or not rattling) past. I’m happy to report that there aren’t any early problems on the Aldershot-Ascot line today.

I wake up properly at around seven, and then lie there, pondering, until the alarm goes off at 7:25 and delivers the overnight news horrors to my bed. I listen to them while doing the morning Wordle, always trying to get it done before daughter’s result arrives in WhatsApp, to avoid being influenced by her attempts. Once I’ve done that, I have a very quick glance at emails, to see if anything has come in overnight (since I often work with people on the other side of the Atlantic, there’s usually something there, but not today).

After listening to the news, I get up and trundle down to the kitchen. Depending on who holds sway on any given morning, breakfast is either toast and marmalade, or fruit, cereals and yoghurt, along with the first of many cups of tea. Today, it’s the end of a pain de campagne loaf, picked up a couple of days ago in Troyes, which is enjoyed while doomscrolling my usual news sources on a tablet (most regularly the BBC, Guardian, and TF1).

After depressing myself with the news, then picking myself back up by reading a couple of articles on something less topical, it’s time for a shower, before I go down to my office to take a proper look at emails. After that, I start work proper by keeping going with the current fairly substantial translation I’m doing for a regular, long-term client. It’s due next week and I’m on track.

Before too long, my thoughts turn to food (to be honest, a small part of my brain is always pondering grub in one form or another). I never plan what we’re going to be eating in advance, I like to be inspired (or not) on the day. So, at about 10:30 I set off down to the shops, to see what they’ve got in. Today they’ve got my favourite wild mushrooms at the fishmonger’s (don’t you buy mushrooms in your local fish shop?), so supper will be mushrooms and mackerel, and while I’m in there I pick up a bit of smoked salmon for lunch, which I’ll serve with a couple of boiled eggs in a salad of some sort (I might have picked up some crayfish tails too).

After lunch, I put the larger translation to one side and do a quick post-editing job. I only do them for one client, but it’s one I’ve been interpreting regularly for over the past ten years or so, which means that it’s an opportunity for me to familiarise myself with the materials I’ll be interpreting when I go to Paris next month for an assignment that takes place a couple of times a year. In short, I’m being paid to do my homework, which can’t be bad.

Uh oh, the garden is calling…

A couple of days ago, I went to the garden centre, to get a few things before the holiday weekend, so I allow myself to get distracted while I plant up the hanging baskets and a few pots, before getting back to my desk. At this time of year, on a warm day like today, my office door is open and, since it gives onto the garden, getting distracted is an occupational hazard. I’m also wondering how strictly I can apply no mow May this year, perhaps I’ll have to compromise because, after a mad growing spurt, if I wait until June, I won’t be able to reach the summerhouse at the bottom of the garden because it will be a jungle out there.

This evening, I’ve got another of my regular interpreting jobs, for somebody based on the North American east coast, so I also glance at the PowerPoint they’ve just sent through. They don’t always do so, so today is a good day! The job will be between 6 and 8pm (often finishing a little earlier than scheduled), so depending on our mood, we’ll have supper before or after interpreting.

After finishing the day’s work, I leave my office and go back upstairs into the house. It’s only a few steps (and I can also get to my office through the cellar, which is useful when it’s raining), but that short walk really separates work from home – turning the key in the lock sends a very clear message, even if the only recipient is me. It’s the little things.

At last, it’s time to relax, and we finally get to spend a little bit of family time in front of the telly, doing our favourite activity, which involves scrolling through the programmes we’ve currently got bookmarked, wondering if we can be bothered to finish something that hasn’t really grabbed us, or start something else that somebody or other told us we had to watch, before giving up and watching another episode of something that people have been talking about for ages, but which we’d managed to miss (currently, Hacks is fulfilling that role).

Back up the wooden hill at ten thirty or so and then reading until around midnight. That, in a nutshell is another day done…