Forty.

The first cuckoo of spring and the neighing of a stallion as I do not dally up this pass to repase around one thirty, or I get there just in time?

Jeane d'Arc the lass in the restaurant was definitely a dark Jeane in more ways than one. This town is dark. Everything is closed until 3. The one restaurant is open but won't serve me so I'm sat on the crossroads hopeful that articulated lorries don't squish me.

Batteries died.

It's like they're trying to kill me with meat. Tonight I had a 9 inch sausage and a faggot/ducks egg ... And a quiche Lorraine and with some wine. Maybe I offended the mother of the house because I could eat no more. I've a mountain to climb tomorrow ... But it's only 600 metres further on. And I was trying to stay away from meat today. The bastard's I never stood a chance. Please forgive me...