It was sometime in early May， round about the fifth.<br > Gray was never sure of the date. He had no calendar，<br >he never bought a paper and he d sold his radio. When<br >he wanted to know the date he asked the milkman. The<br >milkman always came on the dot of twelve， although he<br >had no difficulty about knowing the time because he<br >still had the watch she d given him. He d sold a lot of<br >things but he wasn t going to sell that.<br > "What day is it?"<br > "Tuesday，" said the mi/kman， handing over a pint of<br >homogenised. "Tuesday， May the fourth， and a lovely<br >day. Makes you fee/glad to be alive." He aimed a kick<br >at the young bracken shoots， hundreds of them all<br >tightly cur/ed like pale green question marks. "You<br >want to get them ferns out of your garden， p/ant annu-<br >als. Nasturtiums d do well there and they grow like<br >weeds."<br > "Might as well keep the weeds."<br > "Them ferns d get me down， but we can t all be the<br >same， can we? Be a funny world if we were."<br > "It s a funny old world now."<br > The milkman， who was easily amused， roared with<br >laughter. "I don t know， you are a scream， Mr. L.<br >Well， I must be off down the long long roiad that has no<br >turning. See you."<br > "See you，" said Gray.<br > The forest trees， which came very close up to the<br >garden， weren t yet in full leaf but a green sheen hung<br >over them， and this bright veil made a dazzlement<br >against the sky. It was prematurely， freakishly hot.<br >Gleaming in the sunshine， the beech trunks were the<br >eolour of sealskin.<br >