poliphilo

My mother usually wakes shortly after seven- and we know she's stirring because she puts the radio on. Yesterday she slept until I knocked on her door to summon her for breakfast at eight. I spent the time in between imagining conversations with the doctor and the undertaker.

Two awfully charming young chaps knocked on the door after lunch and tried to sell me a picture of the farm taken from a flying machine. They wanted £90 for it. I demurred and the price dropped- by stages- to £30- and finally (without the frame) to £20. I still demurred because what do I want with a picture of the farm from any angle? I know what it looks like and- besides- it's an ugly building.