When he called her last night I asked him to ask her again what their grandfather had called Bread & Butter Pudding. I had forgotten or misheard what she’d said the night before. “Mrs Ducky Sunk,” she said. Lovely. No one knows or remembers why he called it that.
I walked on the Perygyl this morning, this first time in a long, long time. There was no rain and virtually no wind. It was glorious. And my legs worked well. I enjoy it while I can. Disordered clumps of students hung around outside The Angel or ambled their way down Great Darkgate Street. They seem oblivious to the coming cold. Oh, and they’ve hung the lights. “Not that they switch them on,” he said at breakfast after I’d told him. I wish they did, it would temper the bleakness of this drear month. So be it. Dark it is then.
