I followed a coach up Bradford Road. The livery on the back read ‘Stotts ...taking people to places’.
At work, there has been a bag of Silver Spoon Granulated Sugar cable-tied to a ceiling joist for at least five years. No one remembers how it got there.
The Jehovah's Witnesses were talking in the street outside the house where I deliver the mail addressed to The Druid and the Witch of the End of Time. The one in the long taupe tasselled skirt and an anorak was saying "The most embarrassing thing is when you're in a public space and you can't stop laughing.”
On the radio Barbara Dickson was explaining that when she was young she decided she was "gonna show 'em" because she failed her 11+ exam. I changed to a channel where the presenter was introducing a quiz called Popmaster. The contestant was a stuntwoman who said she once gave up the job for a year but missed the adrenalin rush too much. The presenter said this was fascinating so I turned it over again. This time the presenter said "Now it's time for Rock, Shop and Recover on The Pulse of West Yorkshire: your chance to win tickets to see Kylie live in concert!” I switched it off.
At the sheet metal engineers, I handed a parcel to a large man with a greasy face and blue overalls. I asked him his name but didn't catch his reply.
“Sorry, what was that?” I said.
“Pardon”.
“What?” I said.
“Pardon. P.A.R.D.O.N” he said, “Mr Pardon”.
The weather brightened as I arrived at the Golf Club. The pheasants were making a lot of noise in the undergrowth and the greenkeeper had parked up his wheelbarrow and rake to scratch his back on a fence post. Outside the club house, a man in a suit strode across the car park carrying a large crystal chandelier and a grey haired man wearing and a v-neck sweater waved to me as he drove past in a cream and black Morgan.
