We had beautiful weather in southern England to-day, a marked difference to the ferocious storm we had over false Easter. Having had to run mundane errands in my home town this afternoon, I decided to take advantage of the fair weather and go deeper into Kent for the first time in ages. I left the car and went for a vigorous walk up a beaten track beyond bypass roads and urban developments into a countryside that could have been painted by Constable (if you could see past the barbed wire, that is). I feel renewed, despite everything, every time I go into the country for the first time in the Spring, almost as Frodo did when his eyes were uncovered at Cerin Amroth. During the next hour or so I passed a field of growing hops, an handsome country house, an old bridge, a beautiful mill and many a charming cottage, of flint and timber wrought, with actual, significant names as opposed to numbers. I sat by the river and listened for a while. The wind in the trees and the swift-flowing river brought the angelic chorus to mind as I tried to conceive of celestial melodies, countless choirs singing with voices, and the primeval liturgy unstained by traditionalists. Magna opera Domini!
As you can see, I'm going for a sort of Dr Evadne Hinge look with my hair.