Yesterday in London the usual sticky stodgy conglomerations of people, sleepy and torpid as a cluster of drenched bees, were crawling over Trafalgar Square, & rocking about the pavements in the neighbourhood.  The one pleasant sight I saw was due rather to the little breath of wind than to decorative skills; some long tongue shaped streamers attached to the top of the Nelson column licked the air, furled & unfurled, like the gigantic tongues of dragons, with a slow, rather serpentine beauty. Otherwise theatres & music halls were studded with stout glass pin-cushions which, rather prematurely, were all radiant within - but surely light night have shone to better advantage.  However night was sultry & magnificent so far as that went, & we were kept awake some time after getting into bed by the explosion of rockets which for a second made our room bright. (And now, in the rain, under a grey brown sky, the bells of Richmond [are] ringing - but church bells only recall weddings & Christian services). I can't deny that I feel a little mean at writing so lugubriously; since we are all supposed to keep up the belief that we're glad an enjoying ourselves.