Yesterday evening I watch three schoolboys climb a lamp post against a wall at least seven foot high. They walk on the wall and sit there for a while, kings of the castle. The lamp post, one of those installed a few years ago, swings wildly like a tulip that has just been assaulted.
This morning there is a vast racket overhead. A helicopter hovers low over the rooftops for a couple of minutes, then drifts slowly sideways, before flying off in an easterly direction. It could be a scene from a movie, though, in a movie there would be some outcome.
There is an elderly gentleman whom I pass occasionally and often see in Halls bookshop. He wears a deerstalker hat. Today, for the first time, we greet one another in the Grove (this is Tunbridge Wells, where it takes years before you acknowledge the presence of people you often see but don't know). We pass the time of day pleasantly and exchange notes on various ailments. He laments the absence of conversation, nowadays. I concur. We have a conversation. I say that I hope it will be taken up on future occasions. He agrees. We each pursue our constitutional.