7.30 am: I sneezed. This can be a reaction to something in the air or the start of a cold. I can’t have a cold … not now. The weekend, maybe. But not now. Waking and breakfast are a routine. I’m hardly aware of performing them. Tasks are undertaken, but my head is in either another place or conversation with someone who cannot be present. A waking dream, of sorts. ‘Zoned out’, my sons would say. Gradually, body, mind and reality synchronise. 8.45 am: I gather myself together for the Tuesday march towards Old College. The apathetic downfall has returned:
The first and last Chinese takeaway/restaurant in Aberystwyth, on Pier Street, has closed. I’d never been inside or seen anyone eating inside. So, perhaps the writing was on the wall a long time ago.
At the West Classroom, two men were readying to fix Perspex sheets to the windows:
There were moments of turning observable today; moments that cannot be unturned; moments when their end is glimpsed even as they began. How hard it is to find a way. How hard it is to trust that the way will find us. The making and study of art seems so extraordinarily important presently.
12.45 pm: Homeward via the Quad. The Christmas tree has been decorated, finally. It still looks forlorn and distinctly odd with the statue of a worthy pointing skyward from behind:
2.00 pm: Back at the School, following lunch, I held several tutorials (taught and pastoral) before returning home to conduct admin for the remainder of the day. A strange light (again):
I undertook further planning and reading for tomorrow’s trip to Brum, and hacked away at a bunch of postgraduate applications that have remained outstanding. Into the evening in the same vein. I feel a little achy; a cold was beginning to manifest. I fought on.