A good day for viewing silver birches; the trunks literally shine in contrast with the grey air and the grey sky. The branches fall in tresses, with v-shaped twin catkins at the end of each stem; next season's bud form a spur at their juncture. Against the sky, the colour of the finely etched, voluminous tresses is almost purple, tresses of purple hair.
In the Grove, there are piles of bricks protected by orange plastic wraps, the sort of thing you usually see cutting off entry to a danger area. My grand daughter, Jetty, made a carrier bag out of this material once, and sold it on Ebay as a fashion item, which it was when she had finished with it.
From the corner of Grove Hill Road and the railway bridge opposite the station, you can look down on the railway line and into the dark, mysterious, beckoning mouth of the tunnel leading to Hastings.
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