Just sitting, listening, pulling my arms tight round me for warmth, hearing all sorts of birds that I didn’t recognise plus some that I did, like peacocks. It is 6.50  in the morning, still dark but beginning to lighten. There is no-one else here. The monkeys slowly awaken and clamber down tree trunks only taking an interest in me when I eat my breakfast, an avocado. I stuff it into my mouth as fast as I can as one monkey watches every mouthful. I have my monkey stick to hand. The sun becomes a ball of red through the trees. I listen, I record, I write.

Later, I use these sounds to create my own in the resonate space of the ’round house’. Lying flat on my back, I point my recorder to the ceiling and warble. I don’t notice the bites that I acquire until later when they itch.

The rest of the day is spent intensively using these experiences as a foundation. A full day of making.

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