There is a toyshop in The High Street to which I am always drawn. It sells garments as well as toys and focuses on children under 5, and as my grandchildren are now on their way to adulthood, if not already there, there are few excuses for me to go in. Today, however, Heidi wants a present for a new born cousin, and while she is making up her mind between a rabbit and a little floral dress, I am left free to play with musical tops, drum kits, marble-runs and soft toys which tinkle when you shake them. Heaven! When I tire of the toys I look up to admire the colourful engine drawing a train of trucks from, which dolls and bears wave down at me, and which circulates on the long, narrow track suspended from the ceiling above my head.
Some years ago I commented, at about this time of year, on the camellia in flower in a front garden Grove Avenue. It is always surprising to see a shrub in flower in January, especially one as pink and perfect as this one, and after such a prolonged cold spell too. It reminds me that last time I mentioned it, I miss-spelled camellia. Progress, I suppose, of a kind.