Photos with the Italians, two of whom have dedicated the board to me. I have been on autopilot all week, guarding my health.

My voice is already starting to fail at the station. 'It suits you, ' but as we sink our first pints it becomes increasingly hard to be heard. 'Why don't you phone C?' Her phone is vibrating in my pocket, the letters of her name dark against green. That night we drink and sing.

A Harvey Pekar story: a lost voice and surgically removed nodule. 'How do they do it?' he marvels.

On Saturday we walk into Winsley, passing lamas. I am struggling to speak.

Bath and Spanish sausages, open-air karaoke, barbecue with a beautiful view. A stand-up, musicians and TEFL teachers - some relocating to Bradford on Avon.

We return for a Thai meal. By now it is almost impossible to speak.

On Sunday we see M. to the station.

On Monday I am diagnosed with laryngitis.