Our right to roam around the ironmonger has been suspended. Transactions are now conducted over a trestle table round the side. The till is a flowerpot tray.
The pace of life has been reduced. People on the streets in ones and twos (or families with the compulsory bikes) are happy to smile from a distance and nod or greet. A few cars still circulate, but the steady drone of traffic has receded behind the bucolic whistling of bird life.
I realised when out for a piece of daily exercise yesterday that, after changing my trousers more than a week ago, I had still not accumulated that cruft of jangling coin in my pocket. Not sure whether to feel denuded or liberated.
The loudest noise I heard when outside was the sneeze of a pedalling youth on the opposite pavement; the quietest was when a fox, trotting up the churchyard, noticed my attention and broke into an easy lope.
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