As I was about to put the salmon in oven early yesterday evening I found that I had run out of tin foil so I popped out, in the pouring rain, to the Sri Lankan shop at the end of the road to pick some up.
A woman had broken down near the junction with the High Street, and was trying to push her car up Marlborough Road to get to a parking spot outside the no stopping red zone, so I told her that if she got in and steered I would get behind and do the shoving.
The only other person who stopped to help was the tall, bearded, scary guy who seems to spend most of his waking hours sitting on the bench outside the library drinking White Strike cider and railing against unseen foes.
Food for thought eh? Book and cover; mote and beam etc.
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