"True travellers alone , " wrote Braudelaire, " leave for the sake of leaving".
A broken umbrella, with its ribs broken and its black cover flapping like a bat's wing, is a sad sight, but a surreal one too. This afternoon I see one stuffed into a litter bin which bears the logo of Walls Icecream.
An immense noise in the Grove as two small boys race down the sloping path on strange tricycles. They have two small wide-tyred weels behind and one big yellow-hubbed wheel in front. They are low slung and the seats are angled so that the drivers can lean back a few inches above the ground to obtain maximum leverage on the pedals.
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