I’m not sure, what with the intermission, that I have written about Miss Dog’s forest. There is a Forest Commission wood by Delgaty, as we have known for twelve years: we had rather lazily assumed that this meant a bleak, regimented of Norway spruce plantation of Norway spruce as far as the eye can see. No it isn’t: it’s a charming irregular landscape of old birch, beech and larch, with quite nicely maintained paths, and you can have a lovely walk there. So we do, whenever time permits. There seems to be surprisingly little wildlife but there are any number of other dogs, so a good time is had by all. Tony has been by today, so he and the Professor have beautified the parterre. The box has had its annual trim, and the beds have been weeded, and it looks very fine. Meanwhile I have been undercoating the treillage fence at the end of the garden. We have simply given up on the notion of repainting the existing trellis because we just can’t get at it — with an early summer of downpours plus occasional sun everything’s either been eaten by slugs and died, or grown eight feet high, and the things that have grown eight feet high have made up for the ones that have been eaten. Painting trellis is ghastly. First of all, you think, there’s almost nothing of it, I’ll deal with it in no time. Then you start painting and begin to grasp the essential fact that each dainty limb of the blasted thing has four sides. I used up a tin of undercoat the other day and thought there wasn’t much left, really, so today we bought a small tin of undercoat, I used it up and realised that there was as much to do again. All most annoying, but when we finally paint it pea green it is going to look lovely.