From the inside of Barclays Bank, which is at a higher level than the street, I see, framed in the window, three metal cylinders one above the other like primitive rocket launchers. They are traffic lights sideways on and at eye level.
In Oxfam book shop there is a copy of Wuthering Heights. It is in French and has become Les Hauts de Hurle-Vent.
A new, black liner has been clipped into one of Tunbridge Wells's smart black litter bins. The wind has somehow got into the bag and it stands up vertically like a balloon trying to escape; it seems to swing from side to side with excitement or frustration.