'Yes, of course!' I respond, allowing a hopefully illuminating smile to light up my fizzog*. We exchange a few pleasantries and move on in search of Shreddies ('Unlocking Morning Energy') or whatever. I feel a slight sense of relief that this person has survived the year or so spent with me and developed into an apparently stable adult.
There are former teachers - my friend Ann Pimm for example - who can recall former pupils in extraordinary detail. I do not share this gift and feel a sense of inadequacy; it is surely not right that I can recall the name, Bryum argenteum, of the moss that grew in the corner of the classroom windows, but not those children who should have been the centre of my attention.
Anyway, I ventured into Waitrose today and did indeed meet a friend, the ever-amiable Pom Boddington. With purchases rapidly completed there was time for a stroll around Daventry.
I have heard good reports of our local Turkish restaurant and I went there with a view to picking up a menu. In the event I was so taken with an olive tree, heavy with fruit, beside the front entrance that I took a picture and moved on, remembering only later that I'd forgotten to get the menu. 'Bless me,' I muttered.
An olive tree bears a good crop of fruit. High Street, Daventry.
12 December, 2017
A Monkey Puzzle bears a crown of snow. Holy Cross churchyard,
Daventry. 12 December, 2017
|Alder tree leaves attacked by a rust. Daventry, 12 December, 2017|
|A close-up is not at all helpful.|
* Fizzog was a favourite word of my grandmother's. 'What are you bin up to? You've got a crafty smile on your fizzog.' I assume the word is a corruption of physiognomy.
E-mail Tony White on: diaea