More from Llangarmon

As I write, the dawn is breaking over the Towy valley. The birds are singing, the sky is still blue, except in Carmarthen, where it rains almost all year long, and the dew is wet upon the ground. Mostly because dew is wet. I can see the gilded weathercock on the church tower, as well as the iron pinnacles on the chapels which surround it, like a hostile army investing a city.

My son-in-law, Bob Rule, is whistling, as he makes coffee and waits for his wife to return with a couple of rabbits. Lady Arcos is not yet awake, and will not be until almost noon. The dear child does not like mornings, and as she no longer has to get up before about eleven, she doesn't.

But now I have to go. I've noticed my daughter stalking the milkman.