Aunt Clara has what they call a G.F.S.meeting in the drawing-room on Wednesday, so I take the dogs out.

I go up Richmond Hill, along the terrace, into the park.

It's the 18th of April--the same day as it is here.

It's spring in England.

The ground is rather damp.
However, I cross the road and get on to the grass and we walk along, and I sing as I always do when I'm alone, until we come to the open place where you can see the whole of London beneath you on a clear day.
Hampstead Church spire there, Westminster Cathedral over there, and factory chimneys about here.