Fallen conkers

A delicate and wan morning. Felt a glow of cheer though, after what had been one of the happiest birthdays I can remember. Lorraine cooked Scotch pancakes which were utterly delicious. Sprawled about on the sofa and chairs with Lorraine, First Matie and Betty (who had gone out clubbing after we left the Basketmakers... Ah the stamina of youth). We watched programmes about Autumn fruits and all chuckled as a male chef commented about a succession of sweet, tasty, surprisingly large plums.

Eventually the endless cups of tea and mineral water and breakfast and general slumping did their magic work. Betty back up to London, and First Matie, L and I went up the road to the Signalman for roast lunch.

It was nice to walk up Ditchling Rise however, the road gutters gleaming with freshly fallen conkers. Sadly though the food quality at the Signalman has plummeted. Won't be going back there to eat any time soon.

I also had a solitary kill or cure beer: a pint of Darkness, a dark malty beer brewed by the local Dark Star company. Something pleasingly Gothic about demanding a pint of Darkness, although First Matie naturally abided by cider.

Then we drove the lovely First Matie off to the station. Before L and I returned in the rain for a restorative, tea sipping kind of night. Watched the first episode of The Wire (with subtitles as L finds it hard to understand the Baltimore banter). Then the first episode of Star Trek, which looks magnificent.