At the bus stop:
The builder working on a new porch is singing the Simply Red song, For Your Babies very loudly. He breaks off briefly to say “Alright, pal” without looking up as I walked down the garden path.
A woman stops me in the street to tell me she can smell toast.
I get stuck in the lift at the flats for half an hour until the engineers came to open the door.
The man who sleeps in his car on Mucky Lane has got a new one, a silver Rover 75.