Paris part II. The movements fit perfectly into the morning/afternoon trip. Being preoccupied with the traffic flow allows the music to work subliminally into the nervous system. Listening as not-listening as listening. The shape emerges. A journey within a journey.

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Morse Solids continues. A daily discipline? Source text. Write. Print off. Revise and tighten. Set aside. Just keep it going and see what patterns and themes declare themselves.

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Fish soup. My new chum at the supermarket chops up and fillets with care the cod cheeks, red mullet, and some other bits of cheap fish. Then bundles up with a smile a handful of clams - "un cadeau". There'll be more than enough for two dinners. I tell him I'll let him know how it goes.

Back home, I make the basic stock with leek, onion, celery, carrot, parsley, tomato, garlic, saffron, white wine and water (30 mins or so). Then pulverise and strain. Finally, add in the morsels of fish and clams (5 mins.). I serve it with bread and a South African white.

It's out of this world good.

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The previous night's murderous dreams include Rod Stewart reading a magazine in a deck chair.

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Heavy snow predicted for SE England. Once again I feel torn. Rightly-here-but-ought-to-be-there.