Gulls over the Thames.
In the pantiles, a black, long-haired retriever, drags a metal chair behind it by the leash with which it is tethered. The chair makes a grating sound, which the dog ignores as it proceeds towards the open door of the delicatessen, where its owner is shopping. As dog and chair get nearer to the shop, a man, with a demeanour similar to that of a retriever, but of a different build, approaches and begins to stroke and scratch the back of the retriever's neck. The dog ceases to pull at the chair, but keeps its eyes fixed on the interior of the shop. Eventually the owner emerges and the retriever man, politely removes the leash from the chair leg, and hands it to the owner - a middle aged woman who seems to take the rescue for granted, with only a little more acknowledgement- a polite thank you - than her dog is able to offer. The retriever man wanders off in the opposite direction.
As I walk over what appears to be a mass of worms on the pavement, I realize what I am seeing is nature imitating nature and that the worms are soaked silver-birch catkins which a recent squall has blown to the ground.