Coastal town flaneur...

I sit in the weak pre-noon sunlight, sipping Italian coffee from a corrugated paper cup. The plangent sound of classical guitar soar above the market day and traffic bustle. A Strauss Waltz - Blue Danube - this is no wayfarer but a professional musician, supplied with breakfast and coffee by his attentive girlfriend.
A flock of pigeons congregate around the dappled trunk of a plane tree, fussing with dropped fragments. Sun reflects bright mauve iridescence, shimmering mantillas with bright scarlet finger-feet like brazen sandals on demure senoras.

This scene could be Anytown across Europe; I recall leisurely breakfast writing in Southern France, Barcelona and Majorca. However, the portly bearded traders in their plaid shirts and baseball caps are unmistakeably English.

It's a sunny May Wednesday in Bridport. Later, I will head off for my fix of the sea; for a few moments I am a flaneur, soaking up the sounds, sights, smells of now...