A rushed morning. I didn’t want it to be but all the stuff rushes in. Not important stuff but it’s a race against time with my body at the moment. I tore a hole in my life-saver tights and am now without and the water begins to collect. I try to be sanguine, like he is. Though, like he is with his drug-induced belly, I do get low with it. My legs get so heavy and my knees rigid. Let me heal. I have an arsenal of things to try but I’m in the dark. Should I just succumb? We talk about the menopause, is this the root cause? The doctors can’t find any other reason, at least not yet. I walk with a stride. Movement seems to help perhaps I should walk twice a day or even three? But how will I fit in work.

A nice morning, gentle, a little breeze. A form was sleeping by the base of the bandstand. A form ensconced in a sleeping bag. A radio blasting out dance music was on next to it. The students are back. There are more cars along the Prom and behind Alexandra Hall and more and more bodies oozing out of Pier Pressure night club. One lad was on the ground slumped his arms gripping the railings, a trickle of water emitting from his jeans. Two of his friends were calling his name. Another two lads were calling out to their mate. Was he in the sea? Adrian, they called. Adrian, they shouted, your life is worthwhile. The girls were resplendent. One wore a sequinned sheath, shimmering gold and brown chevrons. Another was in a wide ethnic skirt with a red waistband, a pair of black suede platforms on her feet. I’m touched by the trouble they take. Did the night disappoint them?

Back from work. Archers now. Coffee. And rest.