Up early and writing. After a few hours caught a taxi to the hospital to drop off a sample. Lady taxi driver gave me the benefit of her opinions about heroin addiction at some length. She said people she'd grown up with had become addicts and that her aunt had died of it. There but for the grace of God etc. etc. Then to the hospital, and I found my way to the desk of the pathology dept, where the woman bellowed is it a semen sample? at me. No place for a delicate poet's finer feelings in the NHS.

Back into town and popped into the gym for another mild mannered workout. Fitness nowhere near what it was, but slowly improving. A surfeit of annoying narcissists, today. These gym bunnies are not my people, and the people who work there are even worse.

Home to do some more work before slipping off to see Matt in the Foundry, where we discussed our new opera, and many other important matters. Back to his place to listen to some brass band music, with Matt giving a running commentary about euphoniums, his knees clicking with enthusiasm, then to The Basketmakers for an absolute bloody final with Irish Tom before I lurched home to Lorraine (who had been out with teacher pals) eating a bag of chips en route. Classy.