Woke this morning in another new house, with a full view of the Pacific and a fat Abyssinian who seems indifferent to our presence unless we’re stroking his ginger sleekness.

Over the road, we swim in waves which, in the south, would knock you flat. Up here they churn over you aerated and playful; it’s like being in a benign washing machine.

After four days in the bush, I’m out of touch with the world out there more in synch with the world in here. I feel more useful and productive than when I’m hearing the news and it’s making me agitated. How to do both: know the worst yet stay calm and productive?

Meanwhile I dip in and out; advance and retreat; listen and stop listening; inspire, expire.