Monday, July 22

Today the thermometer outside the kitchen window has risen no higher than seven degrees. There has been a howling gale, a lot of rain, and one howling storm. It has felt like October. I have been wearing a cardigan and thick winter socks.

Naa and I have been writing all day: she has been in the kitchen and I have been in the sauna. She has done better than me. Most of my “writing” has consisted of staring depressedly at the screen trying to make sense of what I have already written, failing, and trying to rewrite, or at least reorder it. The wind has been banging on the sauna house roof and I have felt that I would be better off trying to write horror stories.

The wind blew all the washing off the kitchen verandah, and I got soaked retrieving it. I took the clothes horse into the house to stand guard over Irma’s bed.

An hour ago we had dinner. I had bought potatoes and salad, and opened the last packet of Åke’s gravalax. It was good.

The cat has been angry or frightened about the weather and has sat outside the sauna howling at intervals, but refusing to come in. Now it has raced into the house, howled for food, eaten most of it in ninety seconds and raced onto a bed to look out of the window before deciding to sleep. Its bowl is as empty as my head.

I will wear a t-shirt and socks to bed tonight, and still shiver under the covers.