Every time I visit I want to have never been here before. Is that it?

Every time I don't visit I always want to have been here before? It's something like that I think.

On days when your trousers don't sit right, you have to walk round the place one and a half times before you find yourself back at the beginning. It's not a shock. You've been fiddling with your belt half the time anyway.

As usual here, my ticket unfolds into a sort of higher dimensional vitrine into which I'm placed for the museum's objects to examine. They ask me about our solar system but I only know the facts that were stencilled on a space-themed pencil case I used to have. The objects are hearteningly gracious about it, 'perhaps the next person will know'.

The permanent collection continues to blink in and out of existence of course – 'when it's anywhere, it's here', they say – and the impermanent collection is always in the next room, but maybe one day I'll catch them both. I'd like to, but I worry that seeming desperate will only make it more unlikely.

Something that always bears repeating is that the canteen is remarkably good, and it operates very smoothly. Very. I still always manage to choose too syrupy a drink, but that's on me.

On my fifth, seventeenth, and three hundred and thirty first visits I made audio recordings of the Archipelago Suite. The recordings don't sound like it did in person though. Perhaps it's the influence of magnetism, or atmospherics – or I saw a video about how genius loci like to subtly interfere with electronic equipment. Could be down to that, couldn't it.

One piece of advice: don't try to do your crossword in the arboretum if it's there (every eleventh Tuesday I want to say? Wednesday?). There's no rule against it as such, but you really won't get anywhere.

Oh, and the Wi-Fi is 'i', 'm' and then the largest holodigital square. Someone having a bit of fun there.

You can listen to those recordings I made if you like.