Contrasts

At 4pm today the sun came out and I did a tour of the wind-battered garden. Not much damage apart from one delphinium that has fallen before the onslaught and a few tired looking climbers. The delphinium doesn't look broken, though, so I shall tie it up again tomorrow when the good weather returns. The pond is finally full and I can remove the hoses from the water butts and let them fill up again naturally. I can't wait to get out there and start work on clearing the big shrubbery before planting all my new purchases out. No distractions for me now. It's getting serious. Already the front is filling up and spilling over the path. In winter it is impossible to imagine this but it happens very quickly. I returned indoors just in time to watch the sky darken and rain hammer down for about 10 minutes before disappearing again, for good this time I hope.

I've been in Cambridge for a few days, leaving Suffolk in buffeting gales and cascading rain and waking up to the bluest skies and hot sun. What contrasts we are experiencing. Morning tea and company in bed are perennial treats, and Hugo made the most of an invitation to join us, burrowing into bodies and stretching himself across us democratically. While my hosts worked at their "letters" in the afternoon in their various studies I curled up with Bruce Chatwin and On the Black Hill, and time could have stood still or rushed past for all I was aware of it. At 6pm we convened around the dining table with a glass of wine, and it's this time I love the best as we toss ideas around and share our thoughts about books and writers and everything.

I called in to see David on the way home and was pleased to see him looking well, working at the crossword as I would do later. He said he was OK, that life had to go on, but of course he's lonely, and sad. It's a terrible thing to lose a partner after many years together, especially one as  lively and companionable as Judy. She filled the space they occupied, and looked after him with love and good humour. The difference will be enormous, but I hope he finds a rhythm to his life, and keeps going. I told him not to get up when I arrived and left, but he gave me a wry smile and his eyes twinkled as he said he hoped it would never come to those courtesies being abandoned and affection being ignored. I hope so too. His charm and beautiful manners are part of his very great appeal.