Half a dozen oysters and a glass of dry white wine for lunch, with a view of the junction of Sevenoaks High Street and London Road as people hurry past the restaurant window.
I return to readingCymbeline. Even the most routine dialogue displays the Bard's genius. At random, I note: Posthumus to Iachimo- "This is but a custom in your tongue. You bear a graver purpose I hope." In other words: "You can't be serious!"
Waking in the early, early morning to hear the calm sound of an electric milk float accellerating up the hill.