In summer there is usually a group of tourists gathered round the spring of water, rich in iron (and therefore a disagreeable brown colour) which is the raison d'etre of Tunbridge Wells. Such springs are known as chalybeate springs. When I am a tourist and visiting an "attraction" I confess that I am usually thinking about my next meal. I ask myself what is going on in the heads of these people all strangers to me, and presumably to Tunbridge Wells.
Ivy leaved toad flax grows out of walls around here. It is a small trailing plant of unimposing but attractive appearance. I like this description of it from the often austere British Wild Flowers by John Hutchinson:
"This pretty little plant flowers from the late spring until the autumn. Growing on old dry walls and rocks it is remarkably resistant to drought. The flowers are adapted to the visits of bees who are able to press down the lower lip and gain access to the nectar which is secreted around the fleshy base of the ovary and stored in the spur at the bottom of the corolla. After fertilization takes place the flower stalks curve towards the dark crevices in the wall where the seeds are deposited when the fruit ripens and bursts.
There are at least two people in Tunbridge Wells who walk about the street singing or talking to no one in particular. One is called Naughty Boy because of the tuneless song he chants consisting of a repetition of the words "I'm a naughty boy". The other is more of a talker. He walks about briskly addressing any one he passes, who attracts his interest. Excellent shoes," he says pointing the the Kath Kidston shoes of a little girl who is hold the hand of her father, "Excellent shoes", and walks quickly on. The little girl smiles proudly. Her father looks sheepish.