I’ve talked about it before, the radio and how it plays into my mind. A snatched phrase, a word that resonates. The other day it was from a short story. An Irish story. A short, they called it. The story was about a daughter meeting up with her mother after she’d run away and left her with her grandparents. You hear the train of the girl’s thoughts. ‘You’re both stuck in the year she left’, says the narrator. And then yesterday, one of the composers on Radio 3 having the same surname as the maker I am to interview tomorrow. An unusual name, Dutch.

The sky is milky with wispy clouds. A few more people were about as I walked this morning. It is warmer, possibly that is why.

Take each day at a time, he tells me. One at a time. I watch my breathing, sometimes I am holding my breath and I don’t know that I am doing it.