Mike back in work today, and apparently happy to be so. His son is responding well to chemotherapy, and is now being allowed back home for a day every few days. We went out for lunch with Mark, & Mike Ferg. Ferg spent his birthday on his back with excruciating back pain...

Ended up working late, looking out of the rain falling steadily on the car park and the river, and writing about medical tests and computers, and thinking about seeing MJ in Long Island.

Being brutal with poems on the train today. Murder your babies, as Pound said. Still, in between cutting poems like mad, made time to play the wretched tennis game on my phone. I am trying to limit it to about half a dozen goes, because I end up wanting to hurl the phone from the train after that.

Home and vital pre-packing activities such as ironing, laundry and listening to Bill Evans playing his jazz piano.