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| a warm welcome |
When C was a girl – when C was P, in fact – she used to go on the train to visit her granny in Lancing, in Sussex. The train stopped at Hove, where the guard, or the station master, would announce the fact in a two-note descant, 'Hove, Hove,' a chime we have adopted when referring to home: and home, home never seemed more melodious than it did today, with C emerging yesterday from eight days of Hogarthian horror in a hospital showing the strain of Tory depredations into a weekend of such confirmed Springiness that it bounced our souls skyward.
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| garden, dog, bench, Sun, beloved... smiling on |
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