Taking the sun facing the sea in St Leonards.
At Sainsbury's deli counter, a young man, his back to a growing queue, with the help of a machine and a large piece of cooked meat of uncertain provenance, produces a skyscraper composed of thin slices of flesh. "Big order?" asks a customer with good humour. "Staff lunch," says the young man.
By the front door, the smell of wisteria, opening in the sun, is dispersed by a light breeze. Bluebells, meanwhile, clustered on the slope beside the steps, are in triumphant bloom. Triumphant, because ever since I have lived in this house, I have tried to eradicate them, as the garden has always seemed to me to be too small and neat for their vigorous habit. But in the last two years I have given up the fight, as they have taken hold in odd, shady corners. Today I concede that they have been right and I have been wrong.
