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pedestrian

Stomping on home, Donnington Bridge empty at 2am, Franz Ferdinand singing Michael at night-time volume, not so loud I won't hear the occasional traffic and out of the nature reserve a badger ! scampered across the road ahead of me. It spotted me and paused, looking back. I stopped too, to give it some space, willing it to get off the road, into the safety of the verge, and after a moment it decided I wasn't worth attention, and off it went. And so did I.

Stumbling dirty barefoot back from the drowsy stage to sit by the green river at the dusty village festival all the bad trains couldn't stop us from getting to and watch damp little goth girls in skirts and bras sit soaking away the heat in the muddy water, and stood on the bank, the boy who waded in and then scampered back out again (Cold!) the soaked cuffs of his boot-cut jeans gradually dragging his belt down over his boxers while the dog they're not quite happy to swim with goes bark-bark-bark on the shore, wondering if there's any beer left, too sleepy to go find out.

Walking, fast enough to be comfortable, in the blazing midday sun, eyes open, music on, past all the new brick expanses on Cowley Road where they have it all figured out (apart from shelter or shade) and Boots where shock, they just found they own an awning ! and into town, over the green beneath the bridge and the cloying scent of something exotic from the Botanic Gardens and doing so well until random throws up Elbow singing Switching Off, and I suddenly remember how sun stings on English skin.