8.30 am. Telegraph pole, Llanbadarn Road: felled along with the grass. Here was a metaphor in the making:

I paid a visit to my new doctor to initiate a series of check-ups and establish a health baseline. The surgery’s interior in weighed-down by the burden of its own emptiness. It needs art on the walls in place of notices that, I suspect, most people don’t read:

On the shop floor, the students pushed on with painting the final layers of white emulsion. I pushed on with the review of the PhD fine art thesis element, which concluded at 11.30 am:

Back to the inbox, and on with postgraduate admin: late MA and PhD applications, discussion appointments, and notifications. Meanwhile, in another room, the gentle art of mounting proceeded in library-like silence:

No sooner than the unread emails were read, more poured into the inbox, like water through a leaky roof. On my way home for lunch, the following proposition came to mind — an ideal of sorts: ‘An artefact with formal integrity that alludes to something outside itself’.

Le déjeuner over, I hacked away at my ‘to do’ list for the week with the machete of determination, while batting-off the cruel balls of email requests that always seem to be lobbed in my direction, with increasing rapidity and relentlessness, during the times of greatest pressure. (Not today! Not now!) Studio-wise, the ‘Phils’ and their helpers, along with the student fraternity/sorority, met their Friday deadline with calm and professionalism. The studios are now like a blank white canvas waiting to be filled. the excitement in the air is palpable.

Evening: correspondence with the record company regarding the manufacture of the double CD project; a review of sound recordings made today; a response to the latest batch of Tell Us Now returns (which gave me a pretext to bellyache to the powers that be about the studio conditions at the Old College); an update of my CV; and responses to responses to emails that I’d sent throughout the day.