In which I make no sense at all.

I have a new idea cooking in my head and it is so complicated and so vivid and so antic that I can’t think about anything else. I have to speak bits of it out loud to try and get them into some kind of order. I get to the end of the day and realise I have absolutely no idea what is going on in the world. Buckingham Palace could have been stormed for all I know; Donald Trump could have run away to the South Seas; the entire cabinet could have resigned over Brexit.

I have not eaten anything since breakfast and am not entirely sure what my name is.

I slightly wish that I could approach things in a reasonable manner. Tomorrow, I’m going to attempt to make a better timetable and stop for lunch and listen to the news and generally act as if I were not fifteen years old. My brain swells and throbs and all the voices in my head are shouting.

It’s such an odd job, I think, rather ruefully. I have six people who did not exist two days ago now living in my mind. I can see them and hear them and am already a little in love with them. I know their secret fears and their greatest desires. If this one works out, they will live with me for the next year or so, until I know them better than I know myself. I’m pleased they have arrived, but they’ve come in such a rush that it feels rather like having a new puppy: enchanting but absolutely exhausting.

At least, I suppose, they will not pee on the carpet. One must be grateful for the small mercies.