And there in hope the lone night-watches keep

A strange one this.

I had a bit of a word with Hnaef earlier. He's still quite annoyed with Burton over his latest kick in the shins. But I pointed out to him that he's bound to give people a turn, singing Thomas Hardy poems while chucking wood around in the middle of the night.

He came back from the White Horse after a row with Mrs Hnaef, hoping to have a lay-down in the Moot House. To discover that we were having an evening of worship in the Ukrainian Wood-folk Style.

Anyway, he's gone off into a bit of a sulk. Mrs Hnaef tells me he's out in that boggy area down by School Lane, sitting on the ground and making a booming noise.

I mean, enough's enough. Sure, he's had a hard day. But there's no excuse for bittern-ness.