Three vintage motor cycles accompanied by three vintage bikers, leather studs and grey pigtails under their helmets stand opposite where we are sitting in The High Street. The bikes are Harley-Davidsons (thanks to Robbie who knows his bikes, I recognise that these are viewed without enthusiasm by the cognoscenti ). The three middle aged rockers rev up filling the air with fumes and wait, line astern, so that they can take off together. For a few minutes we can neither breathe nor hear one another other speak. But it is good theatre.
A middle aged couple watch a blackbird in a tree by the path. The woman looks at it through a pair of field glasses though it is no more than 25 yards away. It sounds distressed emitting the same plaintive cry over and over again. "You wouldn't think it is a blackbird to judge by the noise it makes. But it looks like one. It's got a berry in its throat," says the man.