It was a mistake to have gone out this afternoon. The cold penetrating. The lanes covered with mud.
I stopped to take a picture of this 18th century bridge, the shallow arch praised by Pevsner. The river lower than last week, and the water almost clear (immediately after the rain it had turned a thick brown colour). The grassy slope was steep and the grass wet, and in my weak state it would have been easy to topple down into the torrent.
The documents were all neatly laid out, there was a flask of hot tea or coffee (it was impossible to tell which, just that it was black and hot), and a key with a note on how to lock up.
I only stayed about half-an-hour before deciding that if I didn't go home I would collapse.
The journey back was difficult - aching all over and feeling sick. As soon as I got home I fell asleep for three hours. Now I feel simultaneously very hungry and also unable to face any food.