The walk up to the town from the free car park takes me by a
small row of Georgian terraced houses, the end one of which has always
intrigued me because it was always in a shabby condition, but had two big stone
eagles standing either side of the front door. Today it looked much smarter: the
doors and window frames had been freshly painted and the windows were clean. I
soon discovered why: there was a For Sale notice on the wall. It included the
words ‘Parking at rear,’ so I went down the alleyway to view it from the rear.
It felt so friendly, you know? Some houses have an
atmosphere, and this one did – a friendly atmosphere. There was a yard with a
parked car, a few shrubs, and some plants in big pots. It looked very well cared
for and very welcoming. The back door was open, since it was a warm, sunny day,
and a shaggy black dog walked out of it and smiled at me. I decided I’d like to
buy it, only I don’t even have the money to afford a trip to New York at the moment so buying a house
stands not within the prospect of belief. Besides, I doubt the dog would be included
in the sale.
* * *
So then I bought myself a carton of chips for lunch (such a
treat costs only £1.10 in Uttoxeter, whereas it’s £1.40 in Ashbourne. Too expensive. Nearly
everything in Ashbourne is more expensive because it’s full of posh people.)
I sat on a low wall to eat them, and as I munched away contentedly
in the sunshine a young woman of around twenty walked past with a baby. There
was something odd about her, but I couldn’t work out what it was. Her legs
looked strange, but I couldn’t work out why. Her dress also looked strange,
even though I could find nothing identifiably strange about it. Her hair looked
strange, her face looked strange, and even the manner of her walk looked
strange. I just couldn’t work it out.
She walked past me three times, and on the third occasion
she scowled at me as though I was the instrument of all her misfortune. I
wonder why.
* * *
Supermarket next to get cheap porridge oats for the birds.
I was browsing the beers, comparing prices with my usual supermarket, when I
came across an ordinary bitter which carried the tag line:
Great with fish.
Great with fish? Whoever heard of an English bitter beer
being great with fish? Crisps and salted peanuts, yes, but fish? Ridiculous. But then I wondered whether ‘great with fish’ was
being used in the same sense as ‘big with child,’ which would be even weirder,
and yet no less believable.
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