Tuesday
Fine, cold autumn morning with
blue mist full of seagulls rising, falling.
The flat is so high that you get a grand view
right across the grass, marked off into odd shapes by narrow ashphalt paths,
with figures of golfers or of passers by hurrying under umbrellas, dogs running
and playing, right over to the Braid Hills and the blue distant hills far
beyond that.
Above there is the sound of music
and fiddle, from the apartment of the music teacher. Often the dull boom of a door slamming and
the sound of hurrying footsteps on the stone stairs and then down the dark
stone passage below. There are 6 flats
in this block, all occupied by amusing characters.
To the Library for an hour this
afternoon, reading papers. The war news
seems gloomy, and still divers coming in every night. Not a word from Colchester so suppose all is
fairly well.
Tonight had a haggis for supper,
first I have ever tasted.
Delicious. Drink far too much tea
here.
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