Words crop up, words that have featured in a crossword particularly, words that I didn’t know the meaning or provenance of and afterwards they keep cropping up. I love it. Someone called it serendipity, I prefer to see it as a connection, however tenuous, with something. What that something is I cannot say.

Gilt also means a sow. A young sow, I believe.

A short one today. There is too much I want to do. The day gets eaten up, swallowed up with time. I resolved the clock issue. It was in want of a new battery. I changed it and it whirred round then stopped for a least ten minutes at midnight. Was it thinking? Then it started to whirr again, slower this time, stopping at the correct time. All is well with the world.

A blackbird sings outside my studio window. A brisk, cold morning but lovely.

I’ve been pee collecting for the last 24 hours. What a palaver. At least it’s not poo, eh. What they want it for, I’m not absolutely sure. Don’t ask me, said the healthcare worker (not a nurse) who took my blood. She’s off to Disneyland Paris with her 11 year old son. It’s to be a surprise. They’re going by coach. What are you looking forward to most? I asked. Coming home, she said.

Another hour to go and I won’t have to pee in a container any more. How much easier it is for men.

I got a reply. It looks like it’s going to become real. How nice. Thank you. I need a fillip these days. The darkness comes thick and fast. I enter the tunnel of winter with foreboding but a glimmer of stoicism. Long may it last.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.