Once again I returned to the same place, and once again I noticed the same things in the same places. My persistent doubts about the validity of what I was doing, and the difficulties associated with that uncertainty, seemed in a way to mean nothing whenever I actually got here. The place itself always struck me as a little bit dismissive of my trivial concerns, perhaps even a touch disdainful. It was as if it had its mind on other, more relevant, things. There was at least a certain consistency in its attitude, which was admirable.

Or maybe the issue was simply that in the space of two days, nothing had changed here. The weather was different of course. But that was perhaps just a superficial dressing. The place was still the same place. Here was still here, you could say, if you wanted to be abstract. Why was I expecting it to be any different?

By now I was beginning to feel like I'd been scolded by the landscape - told off for being so irrelevant and unnecessary in the face of its self-assuredness. I decided to climb the viewing platform again. Maybe from up there I could find relief from its reproach.

Whilst I was up there I started to wonder whether I was perhaps reading too much into the whole situation, projecting too much into what was essentially a pretty flat patch of land with a few canals. It was probably just dumbly sitting there, I decided, not having any opinions one way or the other about what I was or wasn't doing. Not even caring.

A little bit later I threw my shoes into a field.