Mr Gordon, from down the road, used to sometimes greet me with a smile and say "A champagne crisp morning!"
I never really understood what he meant, but it was always a day like today: crisp, blue skies, bright sunshine, subzero air, cold enough to see my breath, that delicious way that the sun has on such days to blind you unexpectedly as you round a corner, so, just for a second, your world is nothing but light.
Today, walking down the street, breathing in the scent of a wood burning stove, I remember Mr Gordon and, though I'm sure he never carried one, I will always remember him in a black bowler hat to match his long black umbrella and black shiny shoes.
