Day and night no longer have any real meaning. Time just goes on.
The Hartleys left shortly before 9. Seemed strange that anybody having such incredible luck should take it so calmly.
This afternoon we all had our annual trip down to Wigborough and Peldon and had a most enjoyable time. The corn looked wonderful well. They are still trying to finish the new grain-drier near Bonner’s Barn by the Strood, through can't see how they hope to have it ready by August.
Excellent tea at the Peldon Rose, where Pullen showed us his tame fox-cub. It was just like a dog, jumping up at him, wagging its brush. Got back to the town at 7, and went home. Father very well, and Miss Payne rather calmer. Went over to the Rallings. Pretty Joan there, on holiday. Had a long talk and stayed to supper. Left at eleven, and had only been at “Woodside” ten minutes when a raid of “divers” began. Went outside and lay in the ditch alongside the wood, but nothing happened except for dull distant explosions. After a while a badger came out and came to within a few yards of me, before suddenly bolting back into the wood with a little grunt. All clear in an hour, and then went to bed, hopefully.