Lunch with Yannic and Daniel, another slow day... a little fruit, les remontages, les delestages... remember all the people you've had lunch with, remember all the places, from here to the ends of the earth - green, reds and browns, in all shapes and sizes, and all temperaments - remember, only remember... and at last you may begin to act on your remembrances. We drank the Pinot from the tank and ate bread and cheese, rice, fish and meat from Tupperware containers, talked (surprise) of wine - talked shop. My head is fuzzy , yet again, but not detached, debranched, driven away...

Anything interesting, that fires the mind. You will find time to write, and in between times, some honest occupation to keep bread on the table, to while away the daylight hours when the pubs are empty and fatigue and ennui crowd out the mind. Learn trades, see how things are made - sit back, and observe. The past few days upset the mind, unbalance life, get in the way of thinking. Blow them out your nose and mouth, shift the brass weight that lies upon your chest - breathe clearly, without regret or rancour. Relax the musculature, and only then may you see the world - and render it - unclouded. Fools come and fools go; the trick is not to rise or fall (in or out) with them, but to go on, placid and undisturbed, acting without acting, playing no part.

Firm hands on the vine stem, flesh on wood, grasping the solid root and pulling it up until the clear sweet wine spurts from its canopy. We turn sugar into blood-red wine, flushing the skin with blushes, kneading the flesh, pumping and groaning with exhaustion. The heart of the tank is warm, excited, vibrating with pent-up energies. We release them, make the fermentation possible, exploit the potential that lies beneath the skin, in all flesh. We are the word-makers, tending the vines of language, making them bear fruit. Every action, encounter and experience is fertiliser heaped upon my fields.