Morning, with lollipop man

That was my childhood, except with single track roads in the West Highlands of Scotland. Lots and lots of lollipop men, each drinking tea from a flask in a wooden shelter, between the rush hours. We knew them all by name.Even the teddy on the Mull ferry had a name. Hector.

Well, that was then. Today was now, in Bowbridge, Stroud. Traffic lights broken. I was on my way to Cirencester, for the play scheme. About eleven hours later, I was home again, and already falling asleep when I lay down to listen to 'just one song'.

I really needed a decompression day after the festival. Maybe I'll remember that next year.