No supper - Beckley Park

I used to come here as a child. The house belongs to a cousin of my mum's. My mother has some interesting family members - a clairvoyant/alcoholic aunt who lives in a hotel, peyote gatherers, monks, and one, a dwarf, who worked in a circus and ran off with the strong man, but it is at Beckley that resides the only one I know of who is into trepanning.

Amanda was away in Jamaica but I was looked after immaculately by everyone who works there. Down a winding path is a little wooden house which became my home for the next couple of nights. No heating and little hot water but total peace and tranquility. I relished the chance to just eat crumpets for supper. Both nights. And to read my book and write my journal - and take long walks round the ancient, beautiful garden.