6.00am: As I walked down Fitzwilliam Street, a gust of wind blew an empty can of Tennents Super from the gutter and it began rolling noisily across the street. When It reached the middle of the road, it changed course and began a descent down the hill at quite a speed; I watched as it overtook me. About twenty yards further down, a rat appeared from the opposite pavement and began to scuttle across the road on a collision course with the can at the intersection of their paths. I waited for the crash, which had seemed inevitable, but the rat put on an impressive turn of speed at the last second and disappeared into Marco's Hand Car Wash unimpeded.
I apologised to the man at the County Court for the temperamental nature of my PDA when it shut down as he was about to sign for the mail. "It reminds me of a woman" he said. Outside, in the car park I passed two women smoking their cigarettes in tears.
The university was busy with graduates in mortar boards and gowns. I queued to get into the car park behind a red Ferrari with the number plate G1RLS.
There were two identical settee cushions – brown with a bit of white stuffing poking out – in the road at either end of Newthorpe Avenue.
In St Peter's Street someone had stuck a penny to the side of a bin with a blob of gob and a bit further down there were three short blue pencils stuck to the back of the pay and display machine with masking tape.
A woman in a maxi dress was painting a shed whilst listening to Take That in the gardens next to the art gallery.
At Born Boutique – "Born to be different", the mannequins in the window displayed short, swathed dresses in Campbells mushroom taup and Germoline pink, deluged in stiff taffeta bows and swags, paste stones, pearls, purse chains and goatskin clutch bags – with gold feature clasps and fringed trim. Inside the shop, a woman in a dental assistant's outfit was browsing the rails while Jay-Z was piped from the PA.