.Today, it is summer.
The street is full of sounds; children; adults; parties.
My head hurts.
I feel sick.
I wish Didcott and Worthing had quiet, book reading friends.
Friends who close doors gently.
Who don't eat so many biscuits.
Perhaps some nice, anti-social friends who never visit?
I've sent them to the park.
(The ones who are here.)
(All of them.)
(With money for ice-creams.)
I'm going to bed.
Tomorrow, with any luck, it will be winter.