The Stranger in My Body.

It’s an odd fact that sometimes I can walk along a high street feeling a sense of my own presence. And when it happens I want everybody else to sense my presence, too, because at such times I want to be seen. At other times I feel small and insignificant and want to remain invisible. For most of my life the former was very much in the ascendant, but over the past few years the polarity has swung the other way.

Today was a positive day when I wanted to be seen. I smiled a lot, too, especially at the little girl of around two who was being carried in her mother’s arms. She turned to look at me and smiled. And then she waved. There’s something rather cosmic about being smiled and waved at by a little girl you’ve never seen before. It feels like a message from some higher realm telling you that everything will be all right in the end.

But now I feel a little concerned that my accustomed grumpiness hasn’t quite returned to normal yet. I expect it will be back in full swing by tomorrow morning.

And I had another first today. I saw a dog wearing sunglasses. She was a rather lovely, straw-coloured German Shepherd, and the frames of the shades were coloured black and psychedelic pink. Her human was wearing sunglasses, too, although his frames were plain black. I might have remarked ‘cool dog, man’ if only I’d had the chance, but I didn’t.

But I did at least have the opportunity to say ‘welcome’ to the group of foreign people who were sitting at the next table outside the coffee shop. It was warm and sunny and they were laughing at something being said to them through their iPhone. I like seeing foreign people looking relaxed and happy in my country. There’s something wholesome about it. They said ‘thank you.’

I said I was in a good mood today, didn’t I? Heaven knows how the LSD or fairy dust got sprinkled onto my cornflakes this morning.