A wild morning. Spring has abated, it seems. ‘Wrong John’ claims that it’s a moderate breeze. Wrong, John. Wrong. It buffeted me. Four robust girls, some in shorts, all coatless, were walking up from Northgate Terrace as I crossed the road up to North Road. The wind caught at their hair but didn’t diminish their laughter. What do they think of me, I thought, all kitted out like this with numerous coats, hats, gloves and scarves? But of course, they didn’t think of me. Why would they? We live in different universes. I am invisible to them. And to a certain extent I like it that way. I have more in common with the birds.
