tears, balloon, three babies

I commiserate with my friend Hedley, whom I meet in the Grove, about Wales' s recent loss in rugby. It is an emotional business for the Welsh. "There were tears in my tea," he says, and then refers to the match on Saturday when Wales plays England. "It will be singing and tears," he says.

Pigeons circle the clock tower above the station. Something seems to detach itself from the flock. It is a small red balloon. It rises steadily into the sky, passes over the High Street, rides against a soft, grey cloud, and disappears.

A woman pushes a set of triplets down Mount Pleasant. They face her, one behind the other, in a special push chair, with seats in a straight line. A man comes out of Wagamama with some women. "Three babies!" he says with an enthusiastic Scottish accent.