Last night, Rebecca and I ushered out the old month in fine style at the Snowdrop Inn, Lewes. We drank Snowdrop ale (too much of it in my case) and danced to some foot-tapping folk music. I slept last night beside Rebecca's river.
Today I've lurched about, achieving little, feeling vile but happy. I ate lunch in the garden, watched the hens sunbathe and thought about all the things I could write if my brain hadn't turned overnight to Downland chalk.
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