The other day...whilst wandering through a local art gallery...I came across the work of Agnes Denes, a Hungarian artist who was one of the pioneers of site-specific installations. Human Dust...created in 1969...is a group of eight gelatin silver prints...and a text. Together they form the life...and death...of a man. All of his hope...dreams...medical history...loves...and travels...are condensed into two paragraphs. Reading it was haunting...beautiful...and depressing (in the way that things which cause you to question "life" can be).

The last two weeks have been ennui inducing on a whole other level...mainly due to the fact that they have featured a distinct lack of taste. I miss chewing...I miss the conviviality of having a meal with someone...I miss (in no particular order) cheese, charcuterie, wine, yogurt, bread, pasta, tomatoes, the list goes on. I know my cleanse is working...I feel better...I look better...and I haven't slept as soundly since I was a teenager...but I'll be glad when it's over. In celebration of which...even though the mere sight of it is going to depress me for the next couple of weeks until this self-imposed abstinence has drawn to a close...a massive hunk of slate made its way home with me. The slate is memories...the scree that you find at the bottom of hills in the north of England...my mother's kitchen floor...solidity...eternity...a home for cheese when I can welcome it into my heart (and intestines) once again.