That was unexpected. I headed out this morning to take photographs of the Woodbridge Christmas Street Fair. You know the kind of thing: barrel organs, tombolas, spit-roast, mulled wine, stalls touting tat, the obligatory balloon modelling.
Instead I found myself in a room overlooking the Market Hill. I had a Burmese cat called Chindit asleep on my lap and a second glass of Chilean wine in my hand. I was watching a retiree very deliberately conducting her stereo as Juan Diego Flórez burst from the speakers. ("He's gorgeous," I'm told.)
My eyes are a little puffy now from the cat. My belly's full from a piggy-bap bought on the Thoroughfare. It's been a surprisingly relaxing way to pass the day.
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