The toddlers are impressed.

 

We're watched by new arrivals on the village green.

They seem untroubled by the drizzle or by two toddlers who are sitting on the stone wall of their enclosure. The toddlers father has worked out that a sure fire way of exhausting his two year old twins is to plonk them down on the wall and let them chat away to the calves. The toddlers are impressed ... the calves less so. How many generations of village children must have done this ? There is something reassuringly Enid Blytony about life in rural Scotland.

The students have largely gone. Larders have been cleared and contents dumped into bags that have been left on the street to be picked up the dustmen. The town crows and gulls have long ago mastered the skill of tearing black plastic bags with their beaks to access the delights hidden inside. A large crow has discovered two thirds of  a pack of rice cakes. It is not at all happy to be disturbed by us while it's enjoying this unexpected bounty. A partially eaten chicken tikka masala has been spread ( smeared ) across the pavement by a gull that glares at us from the safety of a rooftop. 

A new movie at the cinema. Interesting but probably not interesting enough to tempt us to see it.

We go to the bookstore to pick up an order. This has had great reviews.

The shops changing their window displays. The target demographic for the next couple of months has shifted from cost conscious students to the parents of soon to be graduates. Practical but colourful ladies wear much in evidence. Chelsea mothers, dressed for Antibes and unused to Scottish seaside temperatures, will be glad of a chance to layer up under thick wool.