He mentioned it a few days ago after saying that he’d bumped into our neighbour’s mother in M&S. She’d told him that someone had told her husband that it was going to happen. He didn’t believe it and said so to her. Then he met her husband the day before last and challenged him about it. He said he had it on good authority and mentioned part of a name, not being able to remember the rest. He knew who he meant and told him the whole double-barrelled name (she’s sometime big in the University, apparently). This is how small towns work. And I find myself caring more than I’d imagined I would. I love that space. I love hearing the cricket being played on it in the summer. I like seeing the young boys with their dads practicing kicking balls. I love hearing the groundsmen mowing it continually through the year, and the smell of the grass leavings. I like to walk into town along it’s paths. I like that fact that it is open to the sky. I don’t want them to sell it and build another block of flats on it. He doesn’t believe it will happen. And I must trust to that.
