There was an old man in the town today who was constantly
chewing. I came close to asking him whether he was chewing on something physical,
or whether old men just like doing that kind of thing.
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I went into a gift shop that sold coloured soaps, presumably
hand made, at what I felt to be a curiously high price. I find it hard to
understand why people would pay £3.99 for a bar of pink soap, albeit hand made,
when they could get just as big a bar in Boots for 50p. Is this something to do
with the concept of luxury? I’ve never really done luxury. For me, things have
to be either practical, inspirational, or in some way demonstrably superior to
a cheaper version. Luxury for its own sake doesn’t make much of an impression.
Must be my peasant roots showing.
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My walk tonight was perfect. The wind was just at that
strength where it whispers loudly in your ears and the tree branches, but isn’t
playing the dangerous delinquent. Walking around the lanes at night with a
strong breeze blowing or a full moon shining is redolent of those Universal and
Hammer Horror films I so loved in my teens and twenties.
There was an uncharacteristic lack of lighting in the
Dorothy residence, even though Aunt Em appeared to be in evidence in the
kitchen. Please believe me when I say that I don’t stand around looking through
people’s windows at night (or during the day, for that matter.) What I don’t
notice while walking past, I miss. And the pub car park had two visiting cars on it.
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I think there’s something amiss with the stats collectors
today. Too many notable absences.
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