You know that day when you go for a harmless morning walk, and on the way back a situation - two people, one place, concrete as a memory, potent as poison - appears in your mind?

And then the same day, lunchtime, you're in a really interesting conversation and find yourself making a point that you've made many times before, only this time - what if it was an element in that situation?

And then you're walking back to your room and gazing out of the window, and watching the sun not-move (except it does, of course) over the no-mow-May-now-July flower meadow across the road, and above the buses and tour guides below your window you can hear the two people in your situation talking?

And as you head back out to supper, you realise it's a... play, dammit?

That one.

I can feel an Itch of Writing post coming on.