My own little world

I’ve often stood on Belper railway station in the morning and wondered why the phone was more important than the bird song.

Yet this is not, surely, a new phenomenon: the city gent with head in the Times, both at the breakfast table and the 8.34, is an image often portrayed in TV shows of an earlier era. The ladies had no equivalent I guess; or were more gregarious in their shared times.

Maybe I’m happiest in my own little world and don’t need technical input; maybe I just like to hear the birdsong.

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