Walking in a bluebell wood. The bluebells are English as distinct from the Spanish immigrants which are taking over gardens round here. You can tell by the way the bells hang from one side of the stem bending it a little with their weight.
An elderly neighbour puffing up the hill breathes across the tarmac as he turns left into Eden Road, "exhausting!"he says. In the 25 years I have known him, he hasn't changed noticeably. But we are all getting older.
In The High Street this morning a man sips from a disposable coffee container outside Cafe Nero, It is almost the size of a pint pot, I think for a moment he is drinking Guinness.