It was the kind of October afternoon only East Anglia can produce. A drowsy sun in a cloudless sky, the air still.
The smoke from the wood fire eased lazily into the sky accompanied by the intermittent birdsong from the soaring larks and the crackle of the hedge trimmings. The green bank of an ancient baulk shared its scents, unique to autumn: crushed grass, fruiting trees, the sharp tang of broken fungi.
Read more: Time Add new comment
What with the queues and the cost, the making-up-of -your-mind and endless trailing round shops with blaring music to find the “right” thing for the lowest price. Then, there’s the questions: “… what does it look like” and knowing that answering “a dress” just won’t suffice, even if it’s actually true. [Of course, any other answer needs my legal people and they are never there when you need them].