The heart knows its own bitterness, and no stranger shares its joys (Proverbs 14.10).

Sunday, June 23. 11.15 am: I attended St Padarn’s Church, Llanbadarn Fawr, just over the parish boundary, in the morning. 3.20 pm: Having bid farewell to a lunch guest, I took to the streets and jogged from that part of the Promenade upon which Terrace Road opens, towards the harbour, with audio-visual apps to hand:

Monday, June 24. 7.30 am: An utterly catastrophic beginning to the day. I’d dropped the fruit from too great a height. What salutary lessons can be drawn from this? (‘Just clean it up and get a life, buddy!’, my ‘muse’ would’ve said.):

9.00 am: A little admin and a refill of my medicine box. Apart from two tablets for blood pressure, the others are vitamin supplements.

9.30 am: On with the CD text. Writing, for me, can be a painfully slow process. Searching for the right word, like the right colour or note, that’ll do as much as possible, effectively and efficiently, without drawing attention to itself. Finding the correct order of words, to convey the meaning immediately and clearly. Establishing the correct order of sentences in order to unfold and connect ideas, effortlessly and coherently. Arranging the paragraphs so as to tell a story, smoothly and engagingly.

1.30 pm: Post-lunch bliss (Two squares.):

1.45 pm: At my desk, pushing forward with the writing to the percussive accompaniment of my keyboard. (I recalled the rhythms made by typewriting and clapping at the opening of Act 1, Scene 1 of Steve Reich’s The Cave.) 2.30 pm: Back to notation in preparation for the next section of the text. Providing a concise overview of varied and often quite complex sonic procedures and purposings is a feat unto itself.

7.30 pm: I continued in the same vein, alongside composing a modest research proposal.