Ashbourne Today.

I was in the bank, and there was a banner stretched across several desks that said HAPPY ENGAGEMENT.

‘Who’s getting married?’ I asked. I think I must have displayed a certain reaction unwittingly, because my teller nodded at the young woman further along and said

‘She is. And don’t you go being cynical, now.’

‘Well, everybody to their own, I suppose,’ I replied. ‘What suits some doesn’t suit others.’

‘Are you married, Mr Beazley?’

‘Nope. I was once, but it didn’t suit me. I like my own space too much. Besides, I’m very, very choosy, and I can’t afford to be choosy at my age, so I suppose that’s it now.’

‘Oh, but no, Mr Beazley,’ she replied enthusiastically. ‘You’re a very handsome man. I’m sure you can still afford to be choosy.’

Guess which bit I made up.

*  *  *

It was hotter in Ashbourne today than it often is in July, but do you know what? There was still no freggin’ ice cream van. Can you believe that?