Listless running of errands and pre-departure nostalgia. I cannot find black
thread, but only a Swiss water-bottle that looks as though it should be used to
cause an international incident, which worries me. Returned my last books to the Ashmolean and sat for some time in the stacks, not wanting to leave. Well, five minutes, but that seems quite a while if one is sitting, feeling soppy. Shipped the last of my boxes, only owing to the good graces of the blessed clerk at the St Clement’s Street post-office, who re-opened after closing (at 1pm of all hours) just so my boxes could go out. It is a good thing, I think, to be polite and hopeless.