The title is misleading. I am here, and I did walk down to the sea at Charlestown and look at the moon out over the water, the way the waves become mercury in its thrall, its reflected starlight (thanks to Rachael for the mercury) but this is not about St Austell. It is about other things, being somewhere that is not home and also feeling not like a writer, feeling like something else, about feeling burdened by something I cannot put into words. I can look for reasons why the burden may be there, but I cannot identify it. This leads me to consider if I need to know the burden at all, but rather is it not possible to accept it and find ways to subvert it, to get round it, to write anyway. So this blog tonight is about writing anyway, putting one word after another, and continuing to do that. Like the single step that begins a 10,000 mile journey, a journey that could not take place without that single step, the next word I write is the beginning of something huge. And I’m taking that step here in St Austell.

Last night I was similarly burdened and I wrote a very short story about a sad incident that took place at school when I was ten. I then deleted it. It was too self-indulgent. Tonight I’m writing this and having a conversation at the same time with Matt and Rachael. Tomorrow I am dancing with Rupert and Anna. I’ve not much more to say here. It is good to have people to talk to and be in a new place.

Rachel is considering making her video in the bath, she has biscuits, she’s gone. Matt remains at the kitchen table with me.

“Do you fancy a game of backgammon?”