Up early but feeling a wee bit jaded after an evening out with Anton. Enjoyed looking out of my window this morning at the mist coming down from the downs, and looking down on the backs of gulls. I wrote to Tracey first thing, but then managed to turn to day into one of those were I manage to drive myself a bit mad, feeling an urgent need to get on with stuff, coupled with an equal and opposite inability to focus, or find any inspiration. Everything I worked on, I made worse. Gah. A kind of frustrating standstill.

I enjoyed walking across to Hove to see Janet and Ken, and drink tea and share a couple of brownies. Ken was looking a bit brighter than when I had last seen him. There was a bus there when I left, so I simply jumped on it and returned, and found myself more able to work productively late on than I had all day.

Mason kept in hospital, though is not too ill, and was dressed and ready to go when Mum arrived to visit him. Luckily, she persuaded him to stay.

A quiet night in with Lorraine. I griddled some smoked haddock, and we ate this with rice and vegetables. All really healthy.

Reading a book that Romy lent me, called The Year of Magical Thinking, a memoir of a year in which writer Joan Didion's husband dies suddenly and her daughter is fighting for her life. It is a well written and moving, but not exactly comforting last thing at night reading.