The secret agent in me was uncovering a plot as I walked the dog along a row of front doors, one of which was open even though all the back doors were closed. After watching Europa escape carrying the bull I went back to the house to make classical columns out of gothic liquorice. I worked in the black ruins as much of the day as I could; the children outside happily making a moon out of the contents of a skip and me making an eclipse out of a significant stream of coincidences. As the light began to dim I heard the children again in a tree, not as high as me when I was young but still able to reach out and unzip an old wall to reveal a new wall inside. A tortoiseshell cat walked the entire length of the new wall for a fuss even though all the man with a walking stick could offer was an empty glove.