Thursday am I?

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Must fly; Hemmed in; to the North by Benfield Fords' destruction and South, along Braine Road, Northern Gas replacing 1950s utilities; insanity. The morning noise is deafening. Utterly defeated! Listening to Miles Davis isn't possible between drills and digger, fag smokers and the overwhelmingly smell of gas. Hastily packed - judging this much I will need. But what needs - more default notices, more arrears? Trussed up my ankles with climbing tape and step out of 42. A rapid fire photo of number 41, for photographic proofs of before and after for Adrian, and another journey begins. Much lighter than Nidderdale - sans tent. Give us back the silence of the grave, but can we ever get it back? Paradise is surely lost. We've opened the box, removed the contentedness and found spare parts; more left over than were in that box originally; the 10,000 things.

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