One of the noisy, cheerful young men who are upgrading the central heating unexpectedly sings, in a falsetto voice, the line of a song along with the radio which has been blasting all day: 'cos I know you're gay... " Judging by page 3 of the tabloid newspaper, which he left behind yesterday, he is not.
A car passes with a terrier of some kind, its head out of the window of the front passenger seat. Exhilirated by the airstream, it barks at me and other pedestrians.
On the common, I see a party of three jays flying with slowly flapping wings among the trees. I have alway liked jays for their bright plumage. They were one of the first birds I learnt to recognise as a child. As I walk on, one of them says "skaak", behind me, which is what jays are supposed to say.