A man comes to see to our washing machine. He has two alsatians in his landrover. "Say, 'hullo", he says. I say 'hullo', though the invitation is directed to the dog in the front passenger seat, rather than to me. Dissapointingly, it snarls, rears up at the half-open window and begins to bark its head off.
A lone seagull flies from right to left accross the strip of sky visible above the High Street as I walk down South Grove. It is travelling more or less in the direction of the sea, about 30 miles away. Could it mean that summer is really on the way?
In the Grove, they have sown grass seed on the exposed areas of brown earth left after the path resurfacing. Pigeons, strutting and pecking like chickens, are making a meal of it.