Pigs.

Village pig has been formalized. He - and the piglets - and presumably mother pig -  have been given a sign. It's difficult to say whether this is a warning sign or an educational aid for visiting two year olds who have never seen a pig. This morning pig - and his family entourage - remains resolutely out of sight in the oak copse.

The sun is up at five thirty. Soon it will be the time of constant daylight. In the winter the only sound you hear in the wee cottage is the crashing of the waves down on the foreshore. Now there's a dawn chorus of gulls and ravens and dunnocks. On the dunes Sophie observes a partridge family scurrying comically in and out of the marram grass. Lots of skylarks this year. What a noise they make. We pause by a flowering currant that has thirty Chaffinches singing merrily away from the shelter of its branches. Dog and master stop and marvel at this wall of sound. Quite the way for them to be to celebrating a new day.  I find myself laughing aloud at the simplicity of this pleasure.

Back to the car for a lengthy drink of water and then into town and the Good Coffee Cafe. This proves to be busy. With exams looming on the horizon the students are heading off to the library for its eight am opening. Sophie is greeted  but Angus is ignored. The library, the barista tells me, is open until two in the morning. In our day as students here it closed at six in the evening.  Angus thinks of replying ' How times change ' but this would be too much like his father so he opts for a silent nod of the head.

The last of the wine delivery recorded in the cellar book and put away on racks. With the warmer weather it's possible we may soon be drinking rose. The postman delivers a parcel from France. The Old Mayor has written a book on 'Tractors I have loved'.  We have been sent a galley proof. 

A sign on a university building leaves me none the wiser.