Sunday, October 25

I went for a walk and then we had breakfast. My walk was curtailed suddenly by impending rain. I made it back in time.

In the afternoon we visited both of Irma’s parents and then went to an exhibition about holiday villages in Spain you can retire to. The most interesting thing there was the Turkish man whose stall offered one thing only: a stretch of geo-thermal land with permission to build a power station. I was sorely tempted, but realised in time that I didn’t have the right tools.

Now we are at the other end of the building where there is a Japanese Art Festival for four days. I am standing in front of a painting called The Sign Is Hidden by Miwako Omori. I like it.

In the evening I will finish The Memories of Old Jack, a novel by Wendell Berry. I will decide that it is one of the most extraordinary pieces of writing I have read in years. I will then have a shower and go to bed.