Finished!

Travelled home last night from York having finished my radio programme about 'Stig of the Dump' & crawled into bed utterly exhausted and sick of it. I know it's an inevitable process, this hating what you've just spent so much time lovingly nurturing, but it still comes as a disappointment. I've worked so hard, and all I feel is a profound sense of having let everyone down.

But this morning I went out and the light on the woods and water was wonderful, and still is even at the time of writing. Who cares about anything when the world is so extraordinary?