Back from the Island. It was the usual mixture of windy beaches, fishing rods tangled up with bikes by the back door, wet dogs, sand in the bath.  Yarmouth never changes with its lovely sunsets, smell of chips, walks `up the railway line` to Freshwater, and the lovely woods. There were four generations of us in the house, including great grandchild little Arthur.
I am ashamed to say that I never actually plunged into the sea, though I did manage the steep walk down to Compton Bay with its hundred steps and slippery bits.   It seems quiet and tidy here at home, but I am immediately back to watching TV and reading the papers about all the goings on in London and elsewhere.  I know that bit of Tottenham well where all the riots started.  I do not know what to make of it all. I feel so sorry for the people whose houses and shops have been burnt and damaged.
I have just been watching the Proms on television. It was the William Walton film music for Henry V with words spoken by the actor Rory Kinnear, wonderfully done and so moving, but utterly inappropriate to a peace loving Quaker, all that incitement to violence and mayhem.