Monday November 21, 1983

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas, Hampshire

Chillandham Cross.

Frost and cold. We had the usual vast Winchester breakfast and then, feeling guilty, we walked down by the river and through Easton before returning to Chillandham Cross. They are constructing a motorway just a couple of miles from the house and a great white scar of chalk and clay runs across Itchen Valley. The Transport Secretary should be castrated. Evidently, the monstrosity will slash three minutes off the journey from Bournemouth to London. I wanted to take a photo of Ally nestling in the bullrushes and mallard ducks but the camera went on the blink. Very annoying. We went with Bessie into town and spent hours in the shops. It's not something we've done for six months and so was something of a novelty. I took my erring camera into Dixon's (no relation) who fixed it in minutes. Ally can be very tetchy with her mother. My wife is wanting in tact and patience at times. I blame the bulge for this change in temperament. She must be so very uncomfortable at times. Roast leg of lamb with Bessie. Frank was out and when he returned he locked himself in his study.

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