Through a window half obscured by a lowered blind I see, from the street, a pair of feet in trainers resting on a coffee table. Beside the feet is a pint tankard, half full. Opposite, in the otherwise, bare room, a television screen against the wall.
On one side of the Compasses pub is a window, in the centre of which is a circular area of burgundy, stained glass, edged by a ring of lead. I had not noticed this detail until I passed it this afternoon. In the centre of the circle is the pub's insignia, a pair of compasses, in lead relief.
I sit beside the window with a book. Every now and then I look up to see the rain, faint against the bay tree and the hedge behind it. On the wisteria, raindrops hang at regular intervals.