I drove down to Lewes this morning and stopped off at the beautifully-named Pease Pottage service station, where I realised that the sound I hate more than any other at this time of year is people souling-up traditional Christmas carols. Usually Silent Night. I do not want to hear gospel riffs in that particular tune. It's utterly grotesque.
It's been a lovely day in Lewes. Great food. Great companions. A lovely, hot, open fire. I've been sitting with my leg up on a little pouf and allowing everyone to come up to greet me like an old queen. It was Hilary's birthday. I was totally disorganised and forgot to take a birthday present or Christmas presents for anyone like Raily or Meriel that I knew I'd be seeing. What a useless friend I am.
Across the misty south east, in Catford, Craft and Cake was taking place, and Nathan was there, representing us both. I dropped him off at Woolwich, where one of his friends, a yarn dyer, has opened up a warehouse shop, bizarrely directly opposite Moira and Alex' Circus Space.
I continue to read about the Nene. Today I'm reading about the legend of Black Shuck, an enormous, diabolical dog with glowing red eyes which is said to roam the fens, causing mayhem and terrifying travellers. One of the most notorious reports of the creature comes from Suffolk (out of the region I'm covering, but nonetheless interesting.) Black Shuck is said to have burst into the Holy Trinity Church in Blythburgh in August 1577. His appearance was accompanied by an enormous clap of thunder. The dog is said to have mauled two people to death and then caused the steeple of the church to collapse. Scorch marks on the church door still exist today and are said to have been created at the time of the incident.