On my way into work at 5.15am I see two skinny men rolling a lorry wheel up Church Street. They are soaking wet and panting loudly.
At the Toby Grill, a man in a blue fleece jacket and jeans rummages through the box of Remembrance Day poppies on the bar while the barmaid pulls him a pint of bitter. “Where are the pins? You need a pin in it”, he says. “They never came with any. I’m surprised we’ve got rid of so many” says the barmaid.
At the Grange, I lift the flap of the letterbox and half a dozen large black flies drop out into a stream of run-off that carries them struggling away down the driveway.
The man fitting metal window screens to a vacant house on Elmfield Avenue asks me whether I’d like to buy some trainers. I say no.
I pass a large pair of Eurimco pumps discarded on a country lane.
The woman at number 36 tells me about her wealthy neighbour’s recent home improvements: “It’s unbelievable! He got an interearier [sic] designer in who is a gay from Leeds so it looks amazing!”
Two young men in their twenties talk on the bus: “Were you on Black Ops last night?” “No, I was going to but I had to go up to the shop to get a tin opener.”
