Lost Sunday. Friday was all consumed, and happily so, by yoga, golf, Ultimate, then pub and party (many merry hippie-geeks and goths, one Dutch student of improv puppetry—h'lo!). The sky was back to azure when I got home. Saturday, fully knackered, I read lazily (Siri Hustvedt) and then chowed down through two barbecues (had to carry my half-cooked sweet potato from one to the next). Nearly got a sunburn—what's that about? Today was pleasant and rainy but I couldn't seem to have a thought.

So many purloined posts, gone missing from this column: inchoate, stillborn in the mind, slowly forgotten, no longer timely. Books read, parties enjoyed, movies seen, people entwined; strange sequences, comparisons, saturated angers and kind blisses. They’ve turned so frigid, these Letters, with tumbleweed blowing through. Where on Earth or in Heaven are you now, my Unknown? I think of you sweetly and with yearning.