tune-less singer, high balls, pumpkin seeds

There is a man who walks through the town singing in a peculiar, tuneless manner, not proper songs, but, it seems, songs composed of whatever comes into his head. I hear him in the Grove before I see him. I look in the direction of the sound, and there he is. He is carrying an orange bag, and, as he crosses the main walk of the park, performs a little, rhythm-less dance. Nobody takes any notice of him. And he doesn't mind, because he seems completely self-absorbed.

Three boys are trying to dislodge a football lodged in the branches of a tree. They kick or throw another football at it in order to knock it down. As I watch their unsuccessful attempts, I notice yet another football stuck in some branches even higher up the same tree. Will they fail in their attempts, and lose the third ball up the tree? I make a note to check the number of balls in the tree the next time I walk past.

In the Pantiles, we drink big glasses of Sancerre in the warm sunshine and nibble grilled and spiced pumpkin seeds.