Saturday 21st August, 2.48pm.

I am planting roses in the sun.

Thursday 19th August, 6.06pm

There are rumours of six weeks of rain.

Tuesday 17th August, 12.14pm

My back hurts.

Sunday 15th August, 6.56pm

Not at all certain how I missed two more days; but I did get to see the magnificent Glen Clova, so all is not lost.

Thursday 12th August, 11.37pm

Today has been a day of sunshine, old friends, dogs in the burn, laughter, and one quite unexpected compliment.

Wednesday 11th August, 7.48pm

I am trying very hard not to turn into a weather bore; I fear I am failing.

Tuesday 10th August, 9.19pm

Today I thought mildly about horticulture, American politics, public debt, the sheer loveliness of Timothy West, Islamaphobia, and the best way to cook a chicken breast.

Monday 9th August, 1.29pm

I have lost ten days because I had to go to a funeral and I left my computer behind; in some obscure way, the missing days make me wonder if this entire project has been rendered meaningless.

Thursday 29th July, 4.47pm

I wish I did not have to drive 271 miles tomorrow.

Wednesday 28th July, 6.46pm

I do not understand why people with no taste open hotels; someone should make them go into dental hygiene or metallurgy or any job where aesthetics do not matter.

Tuesday 27th July, 7.28pm

Today I wrote 1992 words and thought about Shelley; there was faltering sun and a taunting suspicion of heat before the clouds rolled back in.

Monday 26th July, 7.17pm

Today, for no particular reason, I am dreaming of the Isle of Skye.

Sunday 25th July, 8.26pm

The dogs swam in the burn; the sun shone weakly; it was a low, quiet kind of day.

Saturday, 24th July, 5.55pm

This morning, at nine-thirty, a good old man died.

Saturday 24th July, 5.51pm

I suddenly realise that I quite forgot to do yesterday's sentence; I feel obscurely guilty and uncertain how to make good the omission.

Thursday 22nd July, 9.19pm.

Today, I became first appalled, then fascinated, and finally delighted by the extraordinary story of Shirley Sherrod; they really chose the wrong woman when they went after her.

Wednesday 21st July, 9.37pm

There is a black sky, and relentless, drumbeat rain; it is like being in a short story by Somerset Maugham.

Tuesday 20th July, 7.24pm.

The first of the chanterelles have arrived, as if by magic.

Monday 19th July, 6.12pm.

I am trying to work out the Meaning of Life; I am failing.

Sunday, 18th July. 4.08pm.

I wonder: will there be days when there is no sentence?

Saturday, July 17th. 4.05pm.

Outside, someone is playing the trumpet.

Friday, 16th July, 2010. 3.29pm.

Last night, my mind was filled with dazzling sentences; today, not a single one remains.

Thursday 15th July. 5.32pm.

I have absolutely no idea what I am doing, or why I am doing it.