And yet, beneath all that I sense something different. Walking round Tate Modern she showed such sensitivity. She was genuinely interested in it, and seemed really moved by some pieces. The trees that were carved away to show their earlier growth, for example. I don't think she understood what they were at first, but when I explained how the artist had created them she seemed, like, in awe of them. Took ages to drag her away from them... *G* But she kept looking at them, getting really close up to them. I thought she was going to start stroking them, and so did the guard, I think, because she kept a very close eye on us while we were there.

"The beauty within us all," she said. "If only we could strip our lives back like that, and start all over again, get it right this time."

"Yeah, but they're dead now. Just blocks of wood." I joked. She didn't like it. She kind of looked at me with a funny expression. I thought she was going to cry so I tried to mollify her. "He's turned man-made objects back into natural, living things," I said.

"Yes, and showing that what look like dead objects still have life in them," she replied.

"All of us have our past experience buried within us. For ever." As I said that, she had the most curious look on her face. Like I said, I can't fathom her. This wasn't the same woman who had earlier been bragging about her easy sex life. I couldn't work out what she was thinking, but a most peculiar thought entered my head at that moment. I've no idea why. This woman, I thought, has just fallen in love. Crazy, I know, but people do have that kind of car-crash glazed expression when they fall in love, like there is so much going on in their brains they haven't got the spare capacity to bother with facial expressions as well. That's what she looked like. Christ, I thought, falling in love with a lump of wood, even if it is exquisitely carved. Freaky... *LOL*

I actually really liked the exhibition. It was cool, much better than I'd expected. One thing I really liked was a series of pictures of a factory canteen. It demonstrated the Fibonacci sequence, which I'd heard about. It is a proliferating number sequence, where the sum of the last two numbers makes the next number in the sequence: 1 1 2 3 5 8 13 etc. I find this a really curious phenomenon, because numbers are an abstract invention of mankind, but the Fibonacci sequence can be seen for real in the natural world. A flower, say, will have one stem, branching off into two, which in turn branch off into five, and from these there will be eight stems holding thirteen petals. It is a natural phenomenon. Anyway, this series of pictures took up a whole wall. In the first picture there was one person in the canteen, sipping a cup of tea or something, and again just one person in the second. The third picture had two people, and the fourth had three and so on, until in the last picture the canteen was crowded with 55 people. Above the series there was a continuous strip of neon which was contorted above each individual picture into the number of people who were in it. I loved that. It's the fact that the sequence is a natural one, which you can see in everyday life, which I love: connecting abstract thought and nature. Cool.

Back to Margaret again. I've been thinking about her. Been thinking about her a lot, actually. She really intrigues me. I like her a lot, but don't know if I can trust her. Like I say, I can't figure her out. It's like there are two people there, the flirt and the sensitive artist. But which is real? What I really want is someone I can trust. After Steve, I need that. I know it's been over three years, but I can't just forget. Pretend it never happened. And that's the trouble with Margaret. Even though I really like her, I can't trust her: I don't know enough about her, don't understand her, can't work out which the real Margaret is.

On to next story: Phone conversation, July 10th