All Saints’ Day

8.45 am: I recalibrated my brain so as to re-engage the composition descriptors. ‘Get them finished by the close of this weekend, John!’, said the voice in my head. ‘No time to lose, then’, I replied. [John, you’re seriously bonkers.] I plundered the vaults of my diary blogs for information on the development of ‘Wisdom is Better than Weapons of War’.

10.40 am: I walked to the GP surgery. The residue of yesterday evening’s Halloween punctuated the streets like orange full stops. While reduced to the status of biodegradable rubbish, they didn’t appear unduly unhappy about it:

Every year I initiate an ECG and a blood test to check my major organ functions and prostate health. (‘The latter is a must, lads!’) These tests aren’t infallible, but it’s better than living in ignorance and denial. I ‘was a very brave young man’ (in my opinion):

11.10 am: Back to the desk (avec thé). I felt tardy today. Writing in second gear is always frustrating. The task was not difficult; just perfunctory. And I was chomping at the bit – eager to get on with the next project. You don’t need self-discipline in order to do what you find fulfilling; but it’s crucial to keep you going when every instinct wants to turn to something else (anything else).

‘John! Stop staring out of the window and pay attention to the computer monitor’:

While scratching an unusual itch on my neck, I discovered that a sticky-pad from the morning’s ECG that was still stuck. Ironically, the other pads had a great deal of trouble staying attached to my skin:

4.30 pm: The penultimate descriptor was complete. I’d stuck with it, and won. I began assembling ideas for the final descriptor: ‘Turn Table’.

7.30 pm: A rare evening off, and a trip to the Arts Centre cinema to see James Gray’s Ad Astra (2019).

Observations on a small sensation: