No diary tonight, I am afraid.
I am taking the turn at being awake by my father, who is not very well. My mother has had a few broken nights and so it is my turn. I am the obvious choice for this because it is not in the least unusual for me to be busily not asleep in the small hours of the morning. Indeed, I see the sun rise before I go to bed far more often than I see it when I get up.
He is sleeping now so I thought I would drop you an apologetic line so that you do not think I have been arrested for rioting or something.
I haven’t been. There are no riots in Windermere yet, although there is always time. Lucy suggested that if I wanted one I could start my own, maybe if I asked Nigel at the Post Office he could tell everybody who came in for stamps when and where it would be. I haven’t yet thought of anything I could riot about, though, maybe about Booths not selling smoked trout any more, I am going to have to go to Marks and Spencer now and I am quite sufficiently miffed about it to riot, I can tell you.
I am going to go. Until tomorrow, maybe.
