We have now had an entire month of uninterrupted newsletters, which I find entirely terrifying, because another April has elapsed and sometimes I feel like I haven't actually moved anywhere or said anything during this time. But then I remember that I have walked for miles, written until my bones ached, spilt ink and slept badly. Again and again and again. Every single damn day whips past me like the cyclists that pretend pedestrians don't really exist, and each evening I panic, thinking that I'll forget something important, some essential clue.