This morning I walked from Didsbury to here, the Metropolitan Library. I passed through Withington, Fallowfield and Rusholme before entering the outer city district, and I don't really know its name. I noticed fresh students, groomed and decorated, like new toys, no chipped plastic paint. The streets were paved with fliers. The buses, rare at the beginning of my journey, became increasingly common and full as I approached the MMU All Saints campus.

I was thinking about how a dawn where your faith in your life's work was crumbling, about the futility of pure art and academic pursuits, about being the exception, about the joy of letting your perspective change and the youthful feeling of allowing new ideas to replace your own ones. I saw infinite strangers and was reborn as a stranger after spending much time in the company of people who know my face, calmed by the walk's rhythm, happy to be living and observing and contradicting, worrying about how I will get away with it when my 'course' comes to a close. It is secondary. I love the drift, the dream overlay that keeps the typical things fresh. I do not want to lose this. I do not want to have my options limited.