a cricket ball again, and I  give you t of ss. But I’ve still got, I’ve al, but I’ve actually o go fis and forty-five and got tal about my c my oicular c tion  at its last kick. And fisypical of t civilization. As soon as you t don’t belong to tting all day under a ree beside a quiet pool—and being able to find a quiet pool to sit beside—belongs to time before tler. tenc  live in terror of time eating aspirins, going to tures, and  of tration camp.

    Does anyone go fis to catc trout-fise ers round Scotcels, a sort of snobbiscificial flies. But s or coreams aren’t poisoned ories ty tins and motor-bike tyres.

    My best fis some fis I never caug’s usual enough, I suppose.

    fourteen Faturn of some kind to old aker at Binfield

    a good turn. One day a little o buy c me outside topped me in  of a bit of root, and only teeth, which were dark brown and very long.

    ‘ you?’

    ‘Yes.’

    ‘t you en, ted to, you could bring your line and ry in t ty bream and jack in t don’t you tell no one as I told you. And don’t you go for to bring any of t their backs.’

    oo muc Saturday afternoon I biked up to Binfield s full of les, and looked for old  t t time Binfield y for ten or ty years. Mr Farrel, t afford to live in it and eit or  let it.  of  to tting, ttles, tations o meadoo s it iful ance. It  , I suppose, about Queen Anne’s time by someone aly. If I  t a certain kick out of ion and t t used to go on t suc t for ever. As a boy I didn’t give eit old  f