tarted. I suppose it ime in March.

        I’d driveo do an assessment of an ironmonger’s s o intervie, but at t moment aken frigo doubt ty good at talking people round. It’s being fat t does it. It puts people in a c signing a c a pleasure. Of course t ag different people. it’s better to lay all tress on tle s about hey die uninsured.

        tctle    a day! You kno generally es some time in Marcer suddenly seems to give up fig    people call ‘brig razor-blade. t a c a leaf stirring, a tou tance ed sloed into t. I’d got to myself. It    aken your clothes off.

        I got to a spot y yards fartopped. too good to miss. I felt I’d got to get out and    tion of pig a bunco take o hilda.

        I sc out. I never like leaving tral, I’m al and look at t reminds you of trian Empire, all tied togets of string but some believe any ma so many dires at o’s like tion of ty-t kinds of    ral it’s for all tche hula-hula.

        te beside trolled over and leaned across it. Not a soul in sigc back a bit to get t my fore ie a tramp or somebody    ttle pile of ill oozing out of ttle bit of a pool, covered over er    sloped up stle beec of young leaves on trees. And utter stillness everyir t a sound, not even an aeroplane.

        I stayed t, leaning over te. I e alone. I    t me. I felt—I wonder wand.

        I felt ’s so unusual no to say it sounds like foolis    t t live for ever, I’d be quite ready to. If you like you    say t t     day of spring. Seasonal effe t to it t. Curiously enoug    life    bit of fire e. You knoill day. ticks t o icks, and u you    see into. It’s curious t a red ember looks more alive, gives you more of a feeling of life t it, a kind of iy, a vibration—I ’t t    it lets you kno you’re alive yourself. It’s t on ture t makes you notice everything else.

        I bent doo pick a primrose. Couldn’t reaucted dole bunco see me. ts’ ears. I stood up and put my bu. teet of my mout them.

        If I’d    tter of fact, I kne man of forty-five, in a grey    a bit t. ife, ten all over me. Red fad boiled blue eyes. I kno o tell me. But t struck me, as I gave my dental plate t bato my mout It DOESN’t MAttER. Even false teet matter. I’m fat—yes. I look like a bookie’s unsuccessful broto bed o. I kno. But I tell you I don’t care. I don’t    t even    to be young again. I only    to be alive. And I    moment    t’s a feeling inside you, a kind of peaceful feeling, a’s like a flame.

        Fart t if you didn’t knoep on it. I    ead of time on, just    t pool, for instance—all tuff t’s in it. Neer- snails, er-beetles, caddis-flies, leec you    only see ery of ter. You could spend a lifetime    lifetimes, and still you     to t one pool. And all t of feeling of ’s t    it.

        But I do    it. At least I t so at t moment. And don’t mistake o begin    eys, I’m not soppy about ‘try’. I oo o it for t. I don’t    to stop people living in to matter. Let ‘em live ing t ty could spend tly     to ’s only because    mines and girls are    typeers t anyone ever ime to pick a flo to pick flo t’s not t.    I get inside me—not often, I admit, but no’s a good feeling to ’s more, so does everybody else, or nearly everybody. It’s just round time, and ’s top firing t macop cever you’re c your breat a bit of peace seep into your bones. No use. e don’t do it. Just keep on he same bloody fooleries.

        And t raigo it. treamlined bullets streaming from t t t icularly. I’m too old to fig t    everybody. Besides, even if t kind of danger exists, it doesn’t really enter into os beforeimes already, I’m ner- isn’t likely to affect me personally. Because    to be a political suspeo o frigioner plugs you from be matter it frigellectually a good deal dumber t o telling you about, t peace, if you like. But s. And it’s gone for ever if trunc hold of us.

        I picked up my bunc t    it    of my mind all time, after ty years duri. And just at t the road.

        It broug. I suddenly realized o ory at t ironmonger’s s    suddenly struck me    man in a bo l all. Fat men mustn’t pick primroses, at any rate in public. I just ime to c. It    ty.    me—you kno struck me t even no some I’d been doing. Better let ‘em t    out of    try road? Obvious! As t past I preteo be doing up a fly-button.

        I ked up tarter doesn’t    in. Curiously enoug ers full of to me.

        I’d go back to Lower Binfield!

        ? I t as I jammed o top gear.    I?    o stop me? And    of it before? A quiet    ted.

        Don’t imagi I o LIVE in Lo planning to desert art life under a different    kind of t o stop me slipping doo Lower Binfield and .?

        I seemed to    all planned out in my mind already. It ill t in t secret pile of mine, and you    able    a f or September. But if I made up some suitable story— relative dying of incurable disease, or somet to give me my e o myself before    s, no noise of traffic driving you silly—just a ening to tness?

        But o go back to Loo do here?

        I didn’t mean to do anyt    of t. I ed pead quiet. Peace! e    once, in Loold you somet our old life t pretending it . I dare say it urnips, if you like. But turnips don’t live in terror of t lie a nig t slump and t self    ill be t-place. I ed to get back t for a    t soak into me. It    like one of tern sages retiring into a desert. And I siring into t during t fe’ll be like time in a Rome t old Porteous elling me about,    ting list for every cave.

        But it    t I ed to ced to get my nerve back before times begin. Because does a time ing? e don’t even kno’ll be, a ’s ing. Per t it’ll be someto to t face t kind of t t feeling inside you. t’s go of us in ty years si’s a kind of vital juice t ed ail t. All to and fro! Everlasting scramble for a bit of g din of buses, bombs, radios, telepo bits, empty places in our bones o be.

        I s door. t of going back to Loles ick t and fill t gulp before topuses. e’re all stifling at ttom of a dustbin, but I’d found to top. Back to Lo my foot on tor until to y miles an tling like a tin tray full of crockery, and under cover of tarted singing.

        Of course t t pulled me up a bit. I sloo about ty to t over.

        t muc    sooner or later. As to getting only a    off all rigell    ask too many questions about t, because s tting doay at ty came in     just clear off    notice. Best t, o tell    I    on some special job to Nottingol, or some otold    it t o hide.

        But of course s sooner or later. trust art off by pretending to believe it, and t quiet, obsti I’d never been to Nottingol or onis. Sucill s all ts in your alibi, and t your foot in it by some careless remark, sarts on you. Suddenly es out urday nig’s a lie! You’ve been off    tcoat. Look at t colour?’ And times it’s imes s about times s ter-effects are al a ro make out ’s all about. tely o tell        s.

        But, , er. I s dain. I’d    bigger t. I    go in May. I’d go in tarted, and I’d go fishing!

        , after all? I ed peace, and fis idea of all came into my he road.

        I’d go and catfield house!

        And once again,    it queer    t to do are t ’t be done?    I catc, as soon as tioned, doesn’t it sound to you like somet just couldn’t    seemed so to me, even at t moment. It seemed to me a kind of dope-dream, like tars or    c it    in t impossible, it    even improbable. Fised.    t enoug. And Goso pay five pounds for a day’s fis pool. For t matter it e likely t till empty and nobody eveed.

        I t of it in trees, ing for me all till gliding round it. Jesus! If t size ty years ago, hey be like now?
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