Self-portrait with shattered window.
Although I have mentioned the other neighbourhood pub, the best pub in Tunbridge Wells is also round the corner from where we live. This is not just my opinion, but it is the view of more practiced connoisseurs than I. It is called the Grove Tavern, and, apart from the quality of its beer and the welcome which its mustachioed manager bestows on regulars and newcomers alike, its landlord Steve Baxter is a computer expert, and a white knight. This morning my machine refused to connect me to the Internet. In desperation I rang Steve on his mobile, and by 11. 30 he was on our doorstep. By mid-day the problem was solved. When I thanked him and tried to discuss remuneration, he declined saying "mention us on your blog." I had no idea that he knew that I had a blog. (Google has much to answer for). Thanks again Steve.
Such a to do this morning! A magpie attempts kidnap and murder in a nearby starlings nest. It is immediately set upon by a wave of at least a dozen shouting, angry birds. Judging by the din, the defence, on this ocassion, has taught the marauder a lesson. It is not a fuss about nothing. Last year Heidi saw a magpie devouring a nestling on top of our bay tree.
