A Mind in Denial.

The young woman I see every Monday in the coffee shop – the one I mentioned briefly in a recent post because she maintains the unusual habit of staring at me – was there again today. I made a point of sitting outside her line of sight so she couldn’t.

I don’t know why her staring habit should be the cause of any disquiet because she’s uncommonly pretty, wears her naturally blonde and wavy hair pulled sideways into those most fetching fraulein-ish bunches, is bedecked in delightfully dotty and colourful attire, and – most importantly – appears to be wholly authentic. Right up my strangely convoluted street, right? Right. I have considered approaching her and saying ‘Excuse me, miss…’ and then repeating all the stuff I just said, only I don’t because if I did – and notwithstanding the fact that my main area of curiosity is whether her name is Abigail (which it almost certainly isn’t) – I worry that she might consider me an ageing pervert and decline ever to stare at me again. Which would be a shame. And that’s why I sat outside the line of her sight – so I wouldn’t be tempted.

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The wind is making a curiously consistent rumbling sound tonight. The wind in these parts doesn’t usually rumble, being more inclined to roar, boom, hiss, moan, or whistle. Its odd rumbling habit caused me to wonder whether it could, in fact, be a commercial airliner en route to East Midlands Airport, but the sound doesn’t rise and fall as the sound of commercial airliners en route to East Midlands Airport usually does. Not unless, that is, the pilot has become confused and is flying around my house in circles, which is most unlikely. I decided to conclude that it probably has something to do with owls.