dove grass doing

 One of the collared doves that live in The Grove. It is spotlit here by the low afternoon sun.  It is interesting that they always show up on the same side of the little park, to the west above The High Street. Their territory seems more restricted than their rougher pigeon cousins.

Grass grows round the base of some of the bollards in Mount Sion. One morning there are sounds of  scraping metal on the other side of our hedge. Inspection a few minutes later reveals that the grass has gone. There is a neighbour who can't abide grass growing out of the pavement. It seems that he has prevailed on the  Council to remove this particular patch, more or less opposite his front door. Other bollards further down the street have retained their sparse skirting of grass.

In Sainsbury's this morning a cheerful man ahead of me in  the queue at the newspaper counter asks me: "How are you doing?"  I have never met him before.  I tell him, "fine", and enquire how he is doing? A minute later he asks the benign assistant in charge  of the counter how he is doing? He in turn indicates that he doing OK. "How are you doing?" he says to me, when I come to make my purchases. "Fine," I say and to break the chain of repetition, wish him a happy new year. It strikes me that the murmur of such greetings across the country this morning could, if concentrated, amount to a mighty roar. A roar of good will and friendliness. Nothing wrong with that.