Tuesday, June 29

I spend almost all day writing, surrounded by flies and other more bitey insects. I discover that butterflies seem to possess an almost complete lack of ability to negotiate glass. Flies and mosquitoes come and go, Butterflies fly in and then simply can’t get out.

On two separate occasions I have to use a glass and a plate to rescue a butterfly from a window that it has banged itself against for twenty minutes or more.

I have an alternate theory. A single very stupid butterfly has decided to hang around the house and garden and manages to return every time I let it out. Meanwhile thousands of other butterflies enter and leave rooms without difficulty.

I get a first draft of my paper finished. I now need to go through it and rework the final section so that it ends with a crescendo. I will do that tomorrow morning.

Early in the evening I learn that someone has identified a case of coronavirus in Benita’s the exact time we had a drink there while filling the water canisters. I realise ruefully that I couldn’t self-isolate any more if I tried.

Just before bed I wander down to the jetty, having checked for other people, and take some photographs. This one turns out considerably odder than I had intended.

I decide that I like it.