I spoke to a man today. He told me that his girlfriend had died six months ago. He’s not sleeping well. He came into town just to tire himself out and he happened upon Oliver Manning, standing outside Mothercare playing “Keep Me In Your Heart”.

He stayed for about eight songs, asking me after each one what I’d been playing, and then apologising for bothering me. But he was no bother.

I remember “Romeo and Juliet”, “Girls Are Like a Black Cat”, “Suzanne”, “Heart of Gold”, “For Emily, Wherever I May Find Her”… all the classics.

I thought it was a foggy day, but it turns out I just needed to clean my glasses. I seemed to chat to people as much as play songs today, but that’s no problem.

I’m on 35 songs now. And what surprises me — though I suppose it shouldn’t — is that they just keep coming. There’s always something there, waiting to come out.

We really aren’t blank canvases. There is always something there. And I wonder if your creativity muscle is something you can infinitely strengthen?

I’m starting to think that this campaign of mine, to write 100 songs over a 4 week period, is probably some kind of genius psychotherapy method.

I’ll probably come out the other side a happy and balanced person.

I could bottle it and sell it for millions. The irony is, of course, that if I had millions sitting in the bank, and I didn’t need to work a day longer in my life, I’d probably spend my time writing songs.

But I’d be doing it in more expensive shoes.