I couldn’t sleep. Something was on my mind, but nothing particular was on my mind – images were random and passing. I even tried visualising sheep jumping hurdles in order to count them.
Obviously I sleep eventually, as we are woken by a tap on the door. The postman with a parcel. By the time I’ve descended the stairs and opened the door, he is in his van and driving away, leaving a card.
I take the dog and walk into town. A bright day, but with chill winds. The parcel, when I get it home, turns out to be a little pottery frog I’ve bought on eBay. It’s by a 1970s Mexican potter called Carlos Villanueve (Charlie Newton – in translation, I guess), whose work I would like to collect.
Dinner on our friends’ boat in Ramsgate Harbour. It’s all walnut and stainless steel, cream leather – and I feel a little astonished we have friends with this level of luxury. The lights around the harbour glow in arches, and the masts of yachts clang like Tibetan monastery bells.