Blue sky; white clouds; sunshine; patches of deep blue sea glimpsed between round-topped hills.
Cold before dawn; crisp once the sun was up.
At ten, we put aside the blankets.
It was a long journey though - my legs still ache.
And we made it only just in time - gliding up beside the bus with less than two minutes to spare.
I could see Ming's greenish head peering down from the top deck. He looked odd, sort of bald without his plume of punk-pink hair.
The guards liked the pasties (luckily I'd brought more than we needed!) and they supplied us with tea (in exchange for lemon).
(Not many people make homemade lemonade nowadays because it's difficult to find any un-waxed fruit.)
And they loved the rickshaw.
(They took turns to ride it up and down while Didcott and I chatted to Ming and a guard played 'Round and Round the Garden' with Worthing.)
Then I had a fit.
Worthing started to cry.
(He was down the other end of the lay-by pedalling about on our rickshaw. I could hear everyone shouting for him to return.)
So there I was - limp on the floor - eyes shut - sense of direction gone - hazily worrying how we'd get home.
And he couldn't think of anything except to send for an ambulance.
(Which we didn't need.)
He looked. He thought. He decided on a plan; - that he'd drive us back home in the rickshaw.
(As long as we agreed he could pedal all the way.)
How can I thank him?
I'll send him a pumpkin!
(After all, he did change Worthing's nappy.)