When I was a child, and even when my children were children, the doctor used to visit on his rounds for relatively minor ailments. He would apply his stethoscope, listen to your chest and back, look down your throat ( say "say ah") and into your ears and scribble a prescription to be taken to the chemist. Doctors don't seem to visit you at home anymore, not at least in this parish, but computer experts do. My computer was not too well over the last couple of days, hence the absence of posts and the strange feeling of helplessness that came over me because I had as it were lost my voice. So it was a relief when the geek arrives with his silver box and mysterious vocabulary and an even greater relief now that things seem to have got back to normal.
In the supermarket, a notice indicates "Coated Fish".
A motorcycle at the entrance to the Grove is covered by some kind of plastic cloak to keep it dry. As I pass it, it comes to life inflated by gusts of wind, as though someone under the wrap is driving it, bent low of the handlebars, and swaying witht he machine as it takes imaginary bends at imaginary speess.