A whole week has just happened, maybe even two weeks. No, just one week. Space and time played tricks on me these last seven or however many days; a few times I confused night with day. I think even more than a few times. It seems like weeks since the magazine came out already, and as if the next one’s happening tomorrow, judging by the way I occasionally wake up worrying about it.

So there was this whole week that just happened. It was full of little missions and quests, tests and rewards, like some east London Choose Your Own Adventure story undertaken by foot, bicycle, 277 bus, the journey becoming as important as the destination, part of the adventure. It shocks me how soon memories build up surrounding the journey between one person and another; how quickly you map your new terrain. Then on Friday my bike got reversed into and the back wheel squashed almost in half. I was on the bike. I didn’t get squashed. I got angry though. The driver laughed, shrugged and drove down Defoe Road, warm and free in a large white estate car. Later, I saw Jack Rose playing a gig. I saw blips of sweat landing on the Hawaiian guitar he had stretched across his lap. It was like he was sculpting it, not playing it: sanding it down or something. Sounded clean as winter. On Saturday I walked in Wanstead Park in the dusk, past a ruined grotto and deep red rosehips, the air like one of John Atkinson Grimshaw’s fairy paintings, potent and visible and busy with tiny detail.

Return to equilibrium, almost reluctantly, with the new Sightings record. Smoothed out all my rough edges with niceness this week; Sightings scratches up the surface again and I like the texture; it fascinates. Strangely outward-facing, this record; not the tight-wound breaking-point toothache it could be. It’s wider sounding than I expected. It has spaces. I think it might be amazing but at the moment all I am is grateful to it for knocking me about a little. Tiring me out so that I’ll sleep well tonight, and try not to dream about stressful situations at Camber Sands, like I did last night.

I feel sorry when it finishes. I think it might be an amazing record, yes. Put it on again, figure out why I like it. No rest for the restless.