Watery day. A deluge this morning as I went to the station. The gutter in Guildford Road like a brook.

Read all of Lamia by Keats today on the train. Got to the line Martin had used: "Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings" in his lecture at the weekend. A hectic, rather hallucinogenic poem, which for some reason I had never read. With some resonance for Mike too...

Philosophy will clip an Angels wings
Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,
Empty the haunted air and gnomed mine--

The Gnome, blinking in the surface light, and me quickly got ourselves out of the office to work on a rebranding project. Walked in the rain along the river to the Ship where we drank rubbish coffees and mineral waters, ate Thai grub and came up with a few concepts. Slouched back to the office several hours later, a few tiresome conversations and then I was out of the office like a rat up a drainpipe.

An hour's walk by the sea tonight. Lovely and rough, with crashing waves. I went to my favourite groyne and spent ten minutes with the wind in my face, dodging spray and looking at the big muscly waves break on the pebbles below. There were clumps of seafoam, some the size of footballs, being blown up the beach.