Sunday 27th January 1935
(2.15p.m.)
A pleasant surprise just before lunch, Brockwell called to see me.
Walked half way to Staines with him, through the boisterous wind (gloves, stick, scarf). Striding back along the lonely Norelands Lane I met two girls but only noticed one. We looked straight at each other as we passed. Greenish eyes, deuced attractive. She fitted the hard sunshine and wind. Afterwards I turned round; she was also looking back. I hurried through Thorpe, pretty in the sunlight. I sang tunelessly.
Who’s been polishing the sun? Brockwell, Peggy, Young and the Girl in the Lane. And the rough wind, which whips the blood into your cheeks.
Dark evening, Callow Hill. Young and I hurried down the road through driving snow – a sudden squall. We sought shelter in a little beer house – two good friends who talk much. Sentimental asses. Sometimes our sentimentality strikes the wrong note.
A pleasant surprise just before lunch, Brockwell called to see me.
Walked half way to Staines with him, through the boisterous wind (gloves, stick, scarf). Striding back along the lonely Norelands Lane I met two girls but only noticed one. We looked straight at each other as we passed. Greenish eyes, deuced attractive. She fitted the hard sunshine and wind. Afterwards I turned round; she was also looking back. I hurried through Thorpe, pretty in the sunlight. I sang tunelessly.
Who’s been polishing the sun? Brockwell, Peggy, Young and the Girl in the Lane. And the rough wind, which whips the blood into your cheeks.
Dark evening, Callow Hill. Young and I hurried down the road through driving snow – a sudden squall. We sought shelter in a little beer house – two good friends who talk much. Sentimental asses. Sometimes our sentimentality strikes the wrong note.
posted by Paul Wilson at 7:22 pm
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