What 40 weeks looks like.

(It looks like rain, but I don’t think it will). I spend more time these days noticing details from the views out of my house than usual.

I recognise my neighbours, postman, binman, local builders, buses of bored commuters all turning to look at me through the window, always with the same adverts for a film I do not want to see. There are car transporters, mothers with every type of fashionable pram, sirens, cars which beep when they get too close and turn the corner. There are the school children who trot at a pace which is improbably uncomfortable as 9:00 approaches, behind mothers of every race, each with a pram, down to the school near us. There is the only mother without a pram who brings a chrome scooter back home with her at 9:10, leaning slightly to let it roll as she walks. There are the mopeds and the loud teenagers, with caps, baggy tops and trousers which aspire to fit. There is the man who wears the same red and blue rugby top into town every day. There are the white van drivers (you have to be fast to see them), the start-stop rush hour queues waiting for the lights to change at the development up the hill and the electric buggies (mounted) and uphill cyclists (dismounted).

Do they all realise how important today is to those of us stuck inside? Maybe today we will go out. Maybe not. Today I’m happy taking it all in.

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