Miraculous recovery from mystery virus this week, am now in reasonably robust form. May even venture a swim again tomorrow.

Spent the day with Toby my brother chatting and wandering about in London. We stopped off in the French bar in Soho for a while. Amazing to think of General DeGaul writing his speeches there in the war. Toby told me about one of his friends in Canada who is fascinated by toilets, and that the only picture on the walls of her flat is of one. Then we talked about family things over a brace of large pizzas in the restaurant around the corner.

I was sad to say goodbye to Toby at Leicester Square station. He's off back home to Toronto tomorrow, but with any luck will see him later in the year.

Bought books on Paul Celan and Fernando Pessoa. But I have absolutely fallen in love with the poetry of Leopold Sedar Senghor again. I have just got a second hand collected works after lending mine to someone years ago. Negritude poetry was brilliant, and I think I'll write something about it again soon. I once wrote an essay on Negritude that was published, but I no longer have a copy of it. I must learn more about him. It's extraordinary that he was the first president of Senegal too. You could almost say his agenda was created through poetry -- although his poems never stray into propaganda.

Home and Mrs Kenny waiting like a chick in a nest to be fed.