Sunday 8th October 1933
The clocks were changed last night, a long drowsy laying in bed this morning.
Afternoon. A walk. Along the river and through the Medes. Damp warmth. Restlessness. Old Windsor and Windsor. Nearly at Egham, returning, I heard the church bells ringing for evening service. Turned across the Medes and went in. Harvest Thanksgiving. Crowded congregation. All strangers.
Even there I did not find peace. This thickly populated, near London district is not my country. I do not like it. Even London itself would be far better. Give me Lincolnshire or Leicestershire or Warwickshire – but not Surrey. There does not seem to be any real compact, insular county of Surrey. A mile down the road one way is Middlesex and in the opposite direction is Berkshire.
Afternoon. A walk. Along the river and through the Medes. Damp warmth. Restlessness. Old Windsor and Windsor. Nearly at Egham, returning, I heard the church bells ringing for evening service. Turned across the Medes and went in. Harvest Thanksgiving. Crowded congregation. All strangers.
Even there I did not find peace. This thickly populated, near London district is not my country. I do not like it. Even London itself would be far better. Give me Lincolnshire or Leicestershire or Warwickshire – but not Surrey. There does not seem to be any real compact, insular county of Surrey. A mile down the road one way is Middlesex and in the opposite direction is Berkshire.
posted by Paul Wilson at 8:36 pm
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