An early bee among mysotis.
A neighbour tells us that while, planting a crab apple tree, she punctured a gas main. Apparently there was a sinister hissing from beneath the ground, which she quickly covered with earth, before calling British Gas.
The curiosity, which I have always possessed, and which I cannot throw off, and wouldn't if I could, becomes a nag as I grow older. In the same way as the late Clement Freud recorded, some time ago, that he had reached an age when there was no longer an incentive to lay down new vintages of claret, so I feel a pang of regret, when I read that in the next 2o years the new form of power generation called fusion reaction will at last be possible. When it is, it will , by the fusion rather than the fission of nuclei, recreate the heat of the sun in a manageable form, and use no fuel-source other than sea water. Impossible? I'll never know.