In the sun dappled Ashdown Forest, smaller trees are occasionally to be seen encased in honeysuckle, and others in roses.
A woman seated at a bus stop in Acre Lane opens a small handbag and pulls forth a large mirror with a black plastic frame that exactly fits in to it. She turns her head very slowly from side to side for a minute whilst holding the mirror perfectly still. It has two cracks, widthways and length ways which cross near the centre, and the four segments are non-aligned. I can guess what she sees but have no idea what she is looking for.
Before leaving work, I approach Mick, probably the best Irishman that ever drew breath, and shyly beg to ask a question of an unusually personal and intimate nature.
“Is it true that you have had your body tattooed all over with shamrocks ?”
In less than a second he replies, “Not entirely !”