Preparation

R.M. visits for a week to prepare for her viva. We are in my office and picnic on snacks bought in the surrounding city. Superb wensleydale cheese and caramelised carrot chutney sandwiches from Marks and Spencers (the same shop mentioned in Bernhard’s great novel Correction which I am finally finishing), prawn crackers in honour of the Chinese New Year. A pot of Tzatziki and old favourites: tubs of reduced fat tuna and sweetcorn and egg and onion. These are to be eaten with ricecakes, which I bulk order from Tescos and bring to the office in my rucksack. Every day, we buy a new gossip magazine to read; R.M. is reading Hello! as I type (yesterday Heat, the day before OK).

All this, of course, is a slight return of the Great Summer of Work last year: 14 hour sessions in the office, the whole day sprawling ahead of us, swathes of reading and writing to be done. Tonight, we have no social engagements, which makes the work day sprawl yet longer; there is time, therefore, to prepare oneself for the day: to assemble snacks, write a preparatory post (to get in the right frame of mind), tidy the desk …

Commemorate these moments of preparation, one almost exactly like another, forgotten when, later, you reckon how many hours you spent writing on this or that day, or in that week. ‘That was a productive time’; ‘that was an unproductive time, couldn’t write, was becalmed, nothing began …’