Sunshine, blossom and leaves blur together through the cab window. On the footpath a man throws a little wave to a woman, she looks up and catches it with a smile. The high street is full of people and pigeons. I sip my way through a pot of Jasmine tea. From behind the counter, still wearing a frown on her face she walks to the restaurant door left slowly closing by the last customer and firmly pushes it shut, its slow swing letting in too much Jesus. The live gospel music playing in the street continues to drown out the sound of Chinese harp. The hippie in the blue Beetle honks his horn aggressively at the bumper of a car crawling slowly up the high street, the car replies by snaking around the road in tease. The horn honks a few more times until they disappear behind market traders selling punnets of fresh strawberries for a pound and two snow white cauliflowers for one pound fifty. People queue for burger and chips from the ice cream van. At the top of the high street an old lady in a high visibility jacket plays random notes on a keyboard to raise money for stray cats. The sound is timeless. The pigeons look bored. A woman wearing only one shoe and carrying the other walks into a pharmacy. We eat wine gums in the sun. On returning home our neighbours can be heard in silk cut voice shouting, “Caa-monnnnn, caa-monnnnn, caa-monnnn, caa-monnnn, caa-monnnn”, if I were a horse on Grand National day and had heard this I would have ran a little faster out of fear.