It were blowing hard that day, late August or not — the notebook describes the sort of wind that gets in the flask cup before the tea does, which is a Pule Hill wind exactly. The boot were in the lee of the wall on the Marsden side. Right, black, laces in, eyelets rusted. It had been there through some weather by the state of it, and up there the weather doesn't take long to state itself.
I sat on the stool with me back to the wall, same as the boot, which weren't deliberate but I noticed it at the time — the boot and me both taking what shelter the wall gave. Cheese and pickle. Flask conditions aren't given a rating in the entry beyond the business with the wind and the cup, which usually means unremarkable rather than forgotten.
Three of the four photographs came out, which for Pule Hill in a wind is a decent return. The fourth has me thumb in it, or possibly a bit of wall — I've had another look at it this week, transcribing, and I still can't decide, so it stays in the envelope unattributed. The boot's the thing anyway, and the boot came out clear on the other three.
Written up August 2026, from the notebook.