The idea is in my head, in my hands, arms, legs, and feet. Getting it from there to the screen, to the page, to the table with the pen and the cup of tea, is the hardest thing I could have ever imagined. There is nothing, it seems, more difficult than a line (that was Picasso).

The distractions are legion: grant applications, art projects, trapeze lessons, newspapers, music, food, friends.

But the idea is still there, turning slowly, gestating. A quote from a fellow researcher I read recently sums it up best: “it is like being married to something. You go to bed with it, you wake up with it”.

I am not married to anything but this, not now. But this idea could take up all the space there is. It could, if I don’t get it into words.