The sun was so warm that I dragged a kitchen chair outside and sat outside the back door in my Norwegian woolly hat, a bowl of lentil soup perched on my knee, the dogs on the grass in front of me, and basked in it. It's the seventh of February and yesterday there was rime on the grass and today we're eating lunch in the sunshine. This isn't what I expected.
This is like landing in Narnia. I feel as if I'm in a magical fairy map (I believe I alluded to this yesterday). Everywhere you go, there is a new path, and each one takes you somewhere you haven't been before. This house might as well have a wardrobe in the spare bedroom, filled with fur coats. A hawk, a big fat brown hawk, sat in the oak tree outside my kitchen window.