6.15am: Dancers and bouncers were sharing jokes and cigarettes outside the strip club opposite work. The dancers were wearing their standing-outside uniform; white faux-mink coats, suspenders and heels. The bouncers wore their black suits, patent shoes and their big self-important faces.
The man behind me on the bus to the hospital had a loud hacking cough. I got off where a group of builders — hard-hats over their hoods — were smoking in a huddle outside the house with the empty Cheese-Curls packet and pile of dog shit underneath the trampoline in the yard.
There’s a lot of rotten, pre-recession boom-time TV's Ground Force decking around here and it’s slippery and treacherous at this time of year; the old man with butter on his top lip and nose advised me to 'watch myself' when I slipped on his.
In the street, a young man with a shaved head and tracksuit was vacuuming his brand new Vauxhall Corsa while he listened to Robbie Williams quite loudly.
On the driveway at Oakwood, a man of about 35, with a beard and donkey jacket, has his head under the bonnet of his 30 year old Saab 900 while he listens to Talking Heads quite loudly.