I should carry an emergency book of poems. Something I can dip into for sustenance whatever the circumstance. The joy of reading poetry - aloud if I can - is a sweet I'm finding impossible to put down.

This afternoon was a torment; three of us, strolling through Ravenscourt Park under a soft patter of early summer rain, on into a pocket sized Garden centre that hugs the side of the District Line.

Such a find as well. A quiet cafe full of deep sofas to sink into, small, peaceful fountains, weather beaten Buddhas folded between bushes and shrubs, and the full palette of green, from the lightest to the deepest olive. It cried out for a poem.