In the newagent, the young man behind the counter says something to me in a language I do not understand, nor recognise.It takes some moments to discover that he is talking into a no-hands telephone hanging round his neck. It is a relief not to have to reply.
A woman passes me with bouquet of flowers in one hand. She swings it like a club as she marches up Mount Pleasant as though she intends to hit someone with it.
Valentine's Day is history. Outside The Barn Bar and Grill, a notice advises Mothers' Day. Book Today.