24.7.39.

Fine in morning, cold & miserable in afternoon. Wildflowers now in bloom: agrimony, perforated St. John’s Wort, red dead nettle, wild mignonette, self-heal, woody nightshade, stitchwort. Found nest of wild bees in grass in churchyard. Nest of moss rather like that made by dormouse. Dahlias budding. Picked first of our own lettuces today, & first ripe gooseberries yesterday. Many peas.
14 eggs (1 very small). A little rain this evening.

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3 Responses to 24.7.39.

  1. Pingback: E Orwell continua comendo ovos « gabinetedentario.org

  2. Max says:

    I see that 24 July 1939 was a Monday. Does this entry mean that George was at church on Sunday? Was he praying for peace or more eggs?

    Max

  3. I am leery of the Dahlias (notice that it is capitalized, now, and plural). The preliminary prognosis suggests Wormhole Stress Syndrome. This futile litany of the mundane, now seasoned with real-time news clippings, has driven me to the point of looking skyward determined to keep a stiff upper lip no matter what I might see.

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