I get so het up. It is only me. It is only my work, my writing and yet the tension gathers. My arms are heavy with it. And then I think of her, with her sling. Incapacitated. We take our two arms for granted for so many things. I wish I were nearer, that I could be more practical help. I feel her pain and am sorry for it. But I digress. I am going back to it. I am going to face it. I want to finish it. I want to form it. I need a plan. Just read it, he says, don’t do any meaningful writing today, just read it. Yes. I just want to sit with it and to make a plan. I’ve avoided doing this for so long. I just wanted it to happen, to flow out. It doesn’t work that way, some order might help. There is room in between to breathe. Are you breathing now?

No room at the inn. Try the Travelodge. Could we share a room? It would be cheaper but neither of us would sleep.

I dreamt I was walking through London it was dark and I came to what seemed the edge of the urban part and came upon a heath. A wild area. It wasn’t what I intended. Then a woman spoke to me telling me I could get a train to where I wanted to go. That platform’s closed off but if you ask the ticket seller he can sell you a fare, she said. It was one of those old fashioned stations, like the one in Greenwich where there is a kiosk that sells newspapers, confectionery etc. I ask for a ticket and reached to get the money he had given me from a cardboard travel money wallet. The ticket seller stuck his hand in for a higher note saying, that should cover it. I didn’t recognise the money at all. And the notes were enormous. A saw a man from the corner of my eye reaching down to pick up a first edition stamp pack. Anyone here interested in girly magazines? shouted the ticket seller. They’re being given quite a beating, he continued.

He laughed when I told him of it. Where does it come from? All of it, I asked. And girly magazines does mean that, doesn’t it? I asked. It’s not referring to Woman’s Own or something? Oh, no, he said, it means that alright.

The Survey ship was in the harbour again this morning, lit up in the dark, as were two fishing boats. Huge crafts with green trawling nets hanging suspended from their bows.

Walking along Llanbadarn Road at 3.10 am I crossed paths with two students, a girl and boy, both were wearing fairy wings strapped over their coats. Later, taking the Prom and winding towards the castle I heard a noise across the road. I turned and saw a tumbling girl. A flash of flesh as she fell off the wall, a boy caught her. All legs and thighs.

A frost or was it a light snowfall coated the roads and paths. I walked gingerly longing to stride.

Just sit with it. All will be well. It is for you, no one else. The important thing is to write it. Write it out.