Saturday 1737 - 1816
 
In the kitchen with Reveil coming through my laptop, making paella for tea: dusting and frying the chicken, chopping chorizo and pancetta, slicing onion and garlic, opening jars of spices, cupboards and the fridge, boiling the stock, clicking on the extractor fan, weighing and washing, talking and stirring. Without my awareness, the streams have been left behind; after eight broken hours, they have sunk sufficiently far from my consciousness for me not to notice that the audio has dropped out. It is only when I turn from the oven to switch on – out of habit – the radio that I realise.