I felt a bit down as I got out of the Juno Beach side of our Normandy landings bed. The dog was wearing a suit of armour and we went out for a joust before I walked to town with a shopping arcade on my back. I left it at the bottom of the High Street and came home with my shopping floating in the middle of my Tokamak haversack. I entered my studio with my head feeling like a slice of burnt toast and I had to scrape off several layers of dark thoughts before I could settle down to work. I painted a city of acoustic guitars with doors as the sound holes: it took me some time to tune the roofs - I could then play the music written by birds on the telephone lines (it proved to be a lament). I would have sung it to June when she came in if she hadn’t been holding a fragment of wing from a Junkers 88.