A girl quitely hoeing on her own in a vast bed of rose bushes, not yet in flower, at Penshurst Place.
A group of Morris dancers opposite the station. They wear shirts, squat black hats with trailing ribbons like pigtails, and spats. One wears a mask which is joined to a cloak. Does the sharp, black pointed face represent a dog, like Anubis? Or is it a blackbird? The familiar music comes from an accordian, a guitar and brass instrument. I can't see it properly because I am sitting at the Cafe on the other side of the road. Suddenly the dancers hoist a girl, who seems to be one of their party - surely she's not a passer-by - into the air. They move off because there is not much room between the bus stop and the frontage of BBC South East's shop and headquarters.
A beech sapling in The Grove, which someone has beheaded. It sends out new shoots all the way down its stem.
I wonder if they were dancing the Rose Tree? I got 'volunteered' to be the rose tree a couple of years ago while trying to have a quiet drink in the Royal Oak. I was told to stand very, very still so I didn't get hit with sticks while they danced. And for months afterwards my friends joked about how I was dangerously fertile.
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