No sun yet. Wind blows on. Birds blow rather than fly past. (You have to take care keeping chickens here: they have been known to blow away.)

More late night dramas with attic woman - another fit - taken to hospital, we rush down to rescue dog - only to get a further phone call to say she'd been sent home. Beloved has now gone down to return dog... Amidst all this Beloved back to old story of granny's perfidious not to say sexy - but nothing likes as sexy as he chooses to think - past, a court in which every statement is one to be taken down, reworded/rewritten and used against her; ditto silence. Both eventually take sleeping pill. Granny rising inevitably late is writing this out of woolly head and accompanying gloom. Men

Land, with all the flowers gives off scent which reminds me of long past things - English haymeadow under the sun? - something like that.

Death of wife of one of aged pa's oldest friends - who happened to have been Lord Baden Powell's youngest daughter. Just read online obituary in the Indy, which goes on about all her commitments/ services etc to scouting and guiding. What they don't pass on of course, is the hopeless domestic incompetence resulting from years of living in Africa with black servants. One visit home she walks into my mother's kitchen while tea is being made, breathes in her vague way, 'Oh Peggy, I do think you're so clever to know when the kettle boils...'

BE PREPARED. Motto for today.