Icy puddles on the common today, cold ducks, a pile of gull feathers (they don't have foxes at sea). Seas of mud, though; floody puddles, restless little children in fat brightly-coloured jackets, aimless lockdown dogs and people shambling through the cold air, faces bound in too-tight masks. Cars have grown, in the last year: they are huge, white and aggressive, and they roar through the little one-way streets aggressively. They think they can drive away from the virus, if they only go fast enough and make enough noise. Accelerate like a rocket! That's the answer! Then they squat outside in the street, blaring one-sided private conversations across the road and into the living room. I know all about their money.
In the evening, cop show after cop show. They all get mixed up: today's cop is tomorrow's robber, and accents slide from one story to another, bolted on to cop-show specialist actors. Whodunnit? Not me.
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