It took eight months but Alfie finally mooned the Athenians. I hope they appreciate the gesture. I hope they understand it's a time-honoured feline tradition around here.

Huckleberry Del, dozing

Fanny in her heyday

long-haired Deloney, crates and a brick wall

Mademoiselle Vague in her Glam-Rock youth

Deloney on the right in his jaunty cap finds a friend

Deloney becomes an artsy-fartsy punk

Deloney is wearing a David Bowie lapel button.

Deloney bucks the trends and slicks his hair back. He has a ball.

Deloney is born with a Beatles haircut

The Greek Tycoon's belly is a formidable one. It precedes the rest of him by about a foot as he walks along. I quite like his gruff and friendly voice, the result I guess of taking twice as many drags on his cigarette than an actual breath of air. He may or may not own the Greek social club nearby. Our interaction has never been more than a nod or a brief hello, but I hear him growling at his cronies every day.

There are two Hellenic parades a year, and how good, how truly important he looks in what must be his one and only made-to-measure suit as he stands out on the sidewalk watching with the rest of us. Imagine a Mafia boss who wouldn't hurt a fly. His pride is entirely harmless as he surveys the old street he loves, and in that we have a great deal in common.

No time better than a sunny Sunday to visit my herbalist, Roger by name. I was there to top up the stuff he gave me to cure the stuffiness in my chest. Well, it was Roger's day off so I got to meet Evelyn, but not right away. A young couple was there before me. They spoke very openly about their "libido problem." I was surprised at how many details they revealed. I mean I couldn't help but overhear, but maybe they didn't care because I looked so stupid and angelic sitting in a chair playing with my sunglasses.

yours truly working in a bookshop long ago

This will be the summer I take a streetcar south to find out once and for all if the blinking light I see nightly is from a lighthouse or not. I remember well enough the romance of seeing a skylight when I was a boy, only to find out later it was no more than an advertisement for the opening of some ridiculous shop in a strip-plaza. I'm older now and well prepared for a let-down. My definition of romance has changed somewhat, and I don't get down to the lake often enough anyway.

Springtime as advertised, up and down the old redbrick street. It's good to see so many contented faces, smiling above their wine glasses on the patios. Really and truly, it's so easy to break someone's heart, I'm surprised it isn't done more often as a kind of competitive sport. Not a bit of it today, not in the sunshine. In Dorset there is a very old sundial made of stone, and above it someone carved: Life is a Shadow. I keep it in mind when I take my Sunday strolls.