A Story of War

I arrive for another weekend at Stockenchurch after an evening’s drinking with Tony Keable-Elliott down in the London Bridge area where the scotch is ¼ a shot. I go riding with A. but don’t seem able to grip with any great strength. We ride through some woods and I have to take up a couple of fence posts to get through into various fields. We have lunch in Henley with her grandmother, known as “Wuffy”, who is a bit deaf, so I leave the talking to A., putting in a few topical asides myself in a voice that she does not hear.

The odd cheque rolls in, and today we go to Oxford where I find a suitable zircon ring – £35 – which A. seems to like.