Sitting on the balcony in my brother's flat. Somewhere below the cars noisily zoom along Hastings Street. Occasional particles of dust dance in the sunlight, which lights up my socks and the pine-needle tree and the broad-leaved tree beyond the balcony.

A headache begins to make itself felt. If I could live today again, I would have it spent at home in my hometown, with a good sleep beginning at an early hour, and choosing fruit juices instead of two Boston Creme doughnuts. This weekend was intended for rest, but I find myself sleep-deprived, and so must pay the penalty of suboptimal functioning for the remainder of the day. I shall not make the same mistake tonight; bed by 12:15 for me.

Off to read a biography.