When the night breathes out...

It remains one of the nice things about this house; it's on a hill, and the high winds roll around the place, shaking everything out of sleep. I love it. The extractor fan responds with long low moans of its own, very peculiar. We are promising ourselves a walk in the wildness of Kent at the weekend, and I have no boots for it. This means shopping, which I hate but need to get on with.

Go then, go shop! Go Boot!

No Boot, stay here. All that windswept wuther looks bleedin' parky. My love is often somewhat theoretical...