There is still a firm of builders and property developers in Tunbridge Wells called John Jarvis. This abandoned building in all probability belongs to them. Its peeling logo against a lovely blue background and rusting corrugated iron have the air of something about which to be nostalgic.In the Farmers' Market this morning outside the public library, I buy myself a mug of hot spiced apple juice, tasting of ginger and cinnamon. The store holder a former journalist, who also sells apples and cob nuts dipped in chocolate, invites me behind the stall to drink the juice quietly away from the crowd. From there as |I sip I watch shoppers coming and going, stopping and starting while their lingering glances dwell on fruit and plants and displays of meat and cheese. Leaves blow past me from the lime trees that border the road.
In The Grove the sun warms the dry leaves turning from green to russet. On the ground they crunch under foot and rustle as you kick them. In the branches they whisper and gossip dry and ready to fall.
