In the Grove, yesterday, they began to lay the tarmac on the repaired footpaths amid frequent flurries of snow. In the poor light of the afternoon, the steam from the tar surrounded the workmen in their orange jackets; with their machinery in constant motion, it evoked a scene from Victorian industry, which would certainly have attracted the attention of J. W. Turner.
At first I thought it was some kind of fungus, but on closer inspection, the clump of greyish yellow matter, turned out to be a dust-covered, plastic orchid which someone had discarded.
The satisfaction of putting loose papers into plastic filing boxes and labelling the boxes.
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