I never would have thought of reading such a book until my sister, who used to live in the same patch of East Sussex countryside as Thomas Turner, lent me her copy, and it has entranced me. Turner was an educated man, widely-read, and fulfilled multiple functions in his tiny 18th century village as shopkeeper, undertaker, parish official, teacher and much else. The diary breaks off when he marries his second wife – perhaps he was too busy being a good husband to keep it on – but during his first, unhappy marriage, it is a revealing, day-by-day record of his joys and woes, what they ate, how busy was the shop, how he dealt with the frequent unmarried pregnancies which could have become a charge on the village if the girl, or more often the man, could not be persuaded into marriage. And how they walked! He had a horse, mostly, but his business routinely took him on 20- or 30-mile treks to neighbouring places. The best of it, though, is that, despite working his butt off, and becoming tolerably well off, he seems to have partied endlessly, often through the night, and then he spends two days with a mighty hangover, cursing himself and vowing to reform. But he never does! It is so human and vital, I could not put it down.