Last night

It was hot, ferociously hot, more like Malaga than here. The home-made baked beans went down a treat, and were so much nicer (and different) than anything out of a tin. After dinner I sat at the balcony, but the breeze too was warm. I just couldn't cool down so I sloped off down the Old Town for a pint. I'm glad that I didn't see anyone I knew, except the bar staff, so I sat down quietly outside. I only stayed for an hour, then went home to watch Hell's House (1932). It's one of Bette Davis' earliest films, where she walks on and off sets from time to time and says things. I enjoyed it though. I turned in at twenty past ten, all hot and flustered.