Strange, warm, yellow stuff came from the sky and landed on me this afternoon. It wasn't urine.
This is what I saw today: birds like tiny bells; slow, furry bumblebees; maybe, an owl; diverting swallows; cows the colour of limestone like rocks on the side of hills; the tiniest foal; acres of bluebells and forget-me-nots; crags; a lake (I really am in the Lake District now); six black volvos; lots of other coloured volvos; four million royal-blue zippy hatchbacks, swifts, fiats, echos, that sort of thing—they must have bought that colour in bulk, maybe for the jubilee, because there are an awful lot of them; and; the most Jacobean ladies room I ever did see—wood panelled, wooden cover and seat, wallpaper where there wasn't panelling, enough wooden furniture for a whole house, pictures, a complete set of Dickens (people must be in there a while) and actual terry towelling hand towels.
I think I just ate wild boar. I wonder if they rear them. I know it's a stupid thing to say, but the alternative is that someone is running around hunting them.
And I'll leave you with this: The only thing Freud rued being unable to solve in his life's work was 'what do women want'. Turns out he only needed to look at Thomas Bulfinch's Age of Chivlary or Legends of King Arthur for where Arthur has to answer the same question for a giant or risk handing over his kingdom and powers. He is told the answer by the giant's cursed sister: 'women would have their will'. Easy. Just have work out what we will.
Good night Bowness (pronounced 'bonus') on Windermere, good night to you.