I'm in Sutton Coldfield today, in a dark room talking to people who are sick. Really sick. The sad thing is they don't know it and it's against the ethics of what I do to tell them how sick they are.

I left home at 6am and have not come home until 11.30pm.

Tired isn't the word for how I feel.

I saw this weather vane this lunchtime when out getting a breath of air and thought how perfectly it sums up how I feel. The arrow points south and south is home. I can't wait to be there. I can't wait until I'm inside my front door and no-one can harm me. David has been so patient. He's hanging on until can spend time with him and yet I know it'll be days before that is possible. How do I feel? Horrible.

Nothing makes this good. the sick people I'm talking to, the time away from home, missing my family like a great aching chasm. I want to be a gardener. I want to feel the soil and earth beneath my fingernails and in the gaps between my fingerprints.

Still, it's sunny. It's blue sky and the project is going well. Is this prostitution? Probably.