As the thaw begins the patio looks like a tartan weave. Rows of white criss cross symmetrically where the snow has settled in the cracks between almost bare paving slabs, interspersed with occasional blobs of snow to add texture.
The elderly man stands aside to let me into the shop and, seeing my stick, gallantly steps forward to hold the door open. After I've paid at the till we end up at the door together and once again he holds it for me.
An eery rhythmic barking comes in bursts in the middle of the night. Not quite like a pack of dogs, the sound moves away quickly, even as a voice shouts out from a nearby house. It's too cold to get up and look out of the window.
The lady in the bank has undulating locks of multi-gold, long enough to reach the bottom of her thigh-length jacket. I feel that she must live in a tower, but she remains talking at the counter so long that I never see her face.
The footsteps sound like those of a woman, so it is a surprise to discover that the passer-by is a man. Glancing at the disappearing figure we spot a pair of high stacked heels beneath the hem of his trousers.
The delivery man is in and out of the kichen so quickly that yet again last weeks bags lie forgotten in the corner. I can't bring myself not to recycle, so there the growing bundle will remain for another week.