Sunday.

 

Photo of Stoke by Nayland, again. Yesterday morning Bea and David Eagle, and their sons Ben and Sam, called in, and, as promised, I showed them how muzzle loading firearms were used. The boys were facinated, and asked sensible questions. After lunch to scrabble. Three good games, one of which was more remarkable for silliness than good play, although it was almost equally deficient in political correctness. It was easily the most enjoyable game of the three, though. It started to deteriorate as a sensible game, when someone put down the word wop, and after much discussion it was agreed that the word was acceptable; the definition of it being a backward Italian prisoner of war (not, I'm afraid one of my more intelectual efforts -the definition, not the word.). Good fun, though. Anyway, I don't like political correctness. I prefer to do my own thinking.

After morning service today (both of us in choir) Sylvia, one of Ann's fellow sopranoes, who was wearing her silver band uniform, under her choir robes, told us she was playing her trumpet at a concert in Boxsted this afternoon. Among other things they are playing 'The lost Chord' and 'Blaze Away'. So we are going to drive over to Boxsted in a little while to sample these delights. More later perhaps.