1. Wisteria petals have fallen on one of my pots and dried crisp (we've had no proper rain for weeks). The purple has faded to sad indigo. I brush them off. Another layer, half rotted, comes off in a slab. Underneath green seed leaves have pressed out of the still damp soil.
2. A little girl wafts past me on her scooter. Her mother trots past, carrying a Miffy bag and a tiny coat. Further up the street I pass the mother standing still, holding the scooter. The little girl is crouched in front of an estate agents' -- she's counting plastic ducks in the window.
3. There's a cry while I'm eating. Nick goes up. He comes down a little while later -- alone. "He just wanted a finger to suck."