the cost of living. Up another five points to-day, I
see. Bread's going to be one-and-threepence. But of course there won't _be_
any bread this winter, so the price doesn't much matter. But what about
coal? and milk? and meat? "Several new sets of wage claims are due for
decision within the next few weeks, and it is possible that two of them at
least may not be determined without a cessation of work." More strikes ...
But not for a week or two. To-morrow there won't be any papers at
breakfast; there won't be any letters. I shan't catch the 9.5. After
breakfast I shall smoke on the cliff--then some tennis. Most of the balls
will go over the cliff, but when they have all gone one just slips down and
bathes, and picks them up on the way. Undress on the rocks--no machines, no
tents. Jolly bathing. Mixed, of course. This Tonbridge councillor is on
about that again, I see. He ought to come to Mullion. Mixed bathing depends
entirely on the mixture. He doesn't realise that. Of course, if he _will_
bathe at Tonbridge ...

"In diplomatic circles no one is attempting to conceal that the situation
is extremely grave." Now which situation is that? That must be one of these
world-plots. Don't really see how civilisation can carry on more than a
week or two now. Lucky I only took a single, perhaps. It was only two
pounds, but I hadn't enough for a return. Never shall have enough,
probably--but no matter. If the world is coming to an end, might as well be
in a good part of it at the time. And it would be sickening to be snuffed
out with an unused return-ticket in one's pocket.

On the sands after lunch--build a few castles and dams and things for the
children--at least, not altogether for the children, not so much as they
think, anyhow. Tea at the farm, with plenty of cream, possibly an egg ...
No eggs this winter, I see; some question of non-unionists. Then a little
golf before dinner--and perhaps a little dancing afterwards. Coffee, anyhow
...

Then _The Times_ arrives, all wrapped up, just as one is explaining about
the seventh hole. It is all stiff and crinkly, and one spends a long time
rearranging it, flattening out the folds ...

And one never reads it. That's the best of all.

A.P.H.

* * * * *

[Illustration: NATIONAL RESEARCH.

_THE DAILY QUEST_, EVER WITH ITS FINGER ON THE PUBLIC PULSE, SENDS A
SPECIAL COMMISSIONER TO OUR HOLIDAY RESORTS TO DISCOVER WHICH HAS THE
NICEST NECKS.]