wet leaves, pied wagtails, remote

The smell of wet leaves on the Common like that of truffles and mushrooms, though neither truffles nor mushrooms are in evidence.

We see the new year in with Champagne and neigbours, one of whom brings Heidi a piece of coal. We switch on the television just to see the fireworks over the Thames, with Big Ben in the foreground, the display focussed on the London Wheel. We then fall to talking about pied wagtails - why I cannot remember - and how they roost in large numbers at this time of year in the trees in the Calverley shopping precinct. They are my favourite birds. I love their swooping flight.

The joy of power: the satisfied look on the face of a driver who, with the help of a remote control on his key-ring, unlocks the door of his car, while still several meters away from it.