Glorious morning. Late again, but had a wonderful night, slept until 7.30 in perfect peace.
Dead Lane saw a man struggling with two goats and a bicycle, the chains all tangled together. Further along, by Johnny Bois Hill, saw a man on a cycle leading a little donkey, and just behind an old man pushing a hand cart, a tatty man from the Hythe, going out into the country to sell his goods. I often see him on this road.
Busy all morning, not out until 1.30. This afternoon to the Mill, and found some louts in the boat, yelling and screaming. Went back to the office about tea time, and found Harding had opened all the windows, though I have told him not to. Results – masses of papers blowing all over the floor.
Home to tea, and stayed until 8. On duty tonight, so went along at 10 o’clock, to Holly Trees, went up into the Library, and worked there until Poulter came in. Talked until after midnight, then went back to the Library until 2am. Slept peacefully in the cell from 2 until 7, except when woken by the noise of the firewatchers moving about.