Back in the basement, with renewed vigor when it comes to tidying and sorting and throwing out and generally feng shuing every last corner. Only I'm a long way from any Last Corner. I am, though, just about through every last cardboard packing box that was carted here by the sadistic and threatening Russian Movers back in 2005, and am making considerable headway in discarding things. This notebook had to go. It's a handsome notebook; it has very few used pages. It also seems to have black mould. There's a whole little cluster of things with black mould, indeed - or there were. I've ruthlessly bagged them. A Blue Guide to Northern Italy (alas); a guide book to Indonesia; a clump of notes for my dissertation (good bye, D. S. MacColl and his views on Degas's L'Absinthe - and a mouse seemed to have got to those ones, too). This particular notebook - though stationery, not print - seems to be pointing auspiciously towards my Book Destruction paper, given the fact that's it's binding is covered with ruins (and I'll be making much use of Ruin Theory, if there may be said to be such a thing). It's good to have things that I know unarguably have to throw out - and indeed, it's very consolatory to take photographs of them. There is, surely, a certain category of things about which I don't really care too deeply when it comes to their physical presence, but I don't, on the other hand, want to forget that I once had some kind of connection with.