touching specifically conker

 Clouds, snouts approaching.

In Calverley Precinct there are often young people with clip boards. Invariably they are pushing one cult or another. Their habit is to greet you in a familiar way which people of my generation find uncomfortable. "How are you? " asks a young man, as it seems into the air, then catching my eye, adds, " you in particular?" But this old fart is not for stopping.

There is something about conkers newly released from their spiky green packs, that produces the sort of thrill you get when opening a present. Today digging over the bed where beans grew this summer I turn up a bright new conker, shining like  polished furniture. There nearest horse chestnut tree is about 100 meters away. Only a squirrel could have brought it there. But with some difficulty because it is a large nut for small jaws. Unless it was a fox! But foxes don't bury conkers. Or Do they?