7.00 am: Awoke. Before retiring yesterday evening, I read a number of putatively true accounts of encounters with ghosts. My thought was that since some research topic associated with my past had pressed themselves upon me recently, I’d make a deliberate attempt to confront others. The focus of my interest was, as in the case of the Edmund Jones’ spirit narratives, upon audible manifestations of the supernatural.

8.30 am: A communion. 9.00 am: I reviewed the reconfiguration of ‘Kind of Weather We Had Yesterday’, which I’d completed yesterday. It sounded spot-on, and remained only to make adjustments to the ‘walking bass’ line. This was derived from the sound of a car accelerating outside the chapel where the source material was recorded. Once the tracks were re-equalised, I remastered the whole for upload to the I. Nothing. Lack (Psalm 23) suite of compositions on my ‘Sound’ site.

9.45 am: Off to town, the framers, the farmers’ market, and M&S (sky-carpark). The weather threatened rain without delivering. My Russian computer technician was at his market stall selling pastries again, today. He’s a versatile individual.

11.15 am: Back at homebase, having consumed a pastry, I completed the upload of the composition and made adjustments to the volume in relation to the others on the album. Only recently have I understood just how important this suite of compositions was to the development of The Biblical Record. Many of the conceptual and technical processes, that were adapted and extended throughout the new album, originated in I. Nothing. Lack.

1.30 pm: After lunch, I switched from the studio to the study. A range of possibilities presented themselves: website and CV updates, equipment testing (in readiness for next week’s adventures in the valleys), software purchases, and myriad small, irksome, but nevertheless necessary, jobs that are the stuff of the summer-period’s commitments.

2.30 pm: Marmitization, with steamy vision:

One of the most salient lessons that I’ve learned over the past few weeks is the value of articulating thoughts on behalf of others. We’re each served by another’s gift for enshrining either an idea, or a consolation, or an insight in words, whether spoken or written. ‘A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in baskets of silver’ (Proverbs 25.11). There’re times when I hunger for words of cheer, comfort, and counsel. At other times, words of warning and reproof are my necessary meat.