Thursday, March 21

I woke up to the ongoing clusterfuck that we call Brexit. Having created an unimaginable set of interlocking crises Teresa May has now put herself in a position where absolutely everything depends on Donald Tusk, the EU negotiator, and his ability to force the British parliament to acknowledge the mess it has created, and then fix it in the only way now possible: agreeing the deal that Parliament has twice rejected.

I realised that I no longer had any reason to believe that this, or anything else, will actually happen.

For breakfast I had a large bowlful of Kellogg’s rose flavoured Corn Flakes, containing real rose petals, “created by local chefs”, who presumably use a lot of recreational drugs.

Afterwards I emailed Helen Kiis from Tallinn who cannot make the Nobanet meeting to try to find a way of including her in the process. This triggered an interesting conversation between her, Micke and me.

At 11:00 we walked from Temple Path to Manthra for some treatments from Anu. Irma went first.

I pass the time by walking down to the beach to photograph the sea. I can see a lone surfer but every time I try to take a picture of him he falls off his board. Every time.

Irma had a foot massage; I will have a full-body massage, and feel great afterwards.

After showers and work time we will decide to spend our last evening here on the seawall at Sumundra Beach, watching the tide as the sun sets.

Tangaraj will take us and, once darkness has fallen, bring us home again. In between we will watch, and listen to, big waves and Indian teenagers celebrating holi.

When we get home I will discover that the EU has rejected Teresa May’s plaintive request, and things that could not get any worse have, in fact, got worse.