On Yellow Coats
When it rains, and the air is cold and thick, and you can see your breath, I think it is quite understandable to be unusually appreciative of the colourful company waiting at the bus stop. A short stocky man in a yellow rain coat, who I have seen before on a number of occasions (always wearing that same rain coat) confidently strode up to our little gathering. He had a brown woollen hat pulled over his head and a smile as wide as his face. In a thick Jamaican accent he chatted to an older man, who he evidently knew to some degree (no doubt they had met at this bus stop a few times before). From their conversation I learned that the Co-Op in civic is due to close after Christmas, ('What's going to take it's place?' 'I don't know...Asda?') and that the women with two dogs across the road takes the dogs for a walk at 4am every morning, without fail. Apparently.
This little experience got my day off to a good start. It might have been that the familiar Jamaican, with his low, heavy stature, all weather clothing and wonderful smile had imparted to me a sense of being able to face whatever the day may throw up, with a smile thrown in to boot.