Bob, my rock neighbour

I just walked up Queen’s Crescent to buy a banana and post letters, as I usually do at five o’ clock, and on the way I met Bob, my neighbour. Bob is a rock and world music critic, and a TV news reporter, technically retired but still working now and then. He leads an interesting life, and I have learned to be cautious telling him my news for fear of being overwhelmed by his. Once when Eliza was a baby I met him in the street and self-pitying lamented not having slept because of her waking the night before, then I asked what he’d been up to. ‘I’ve been covering the fighting on the Israel-Lebanon border all week,’ he said. ‘Just on my way home from Heathrow.’

This afternoon, I mentioned that  I’d spent the afternoon on the phone to policemen and the League Against Cruel Sports for a story about men using bull lurchers to attack deer in stubble fields. Bob, meanwhile, explained that had just got back from the WOMAD festival in the Caucasus; while he was there, Putin had tried to shut it down because he (Putin, not Bob) had realised that WOMAD was run by Peter Gabriel, who has publicly supported Pussy Riot.  I expect Bob actually brokered the compromise peace agreement.

I bought myself a packet of Ginni’s Spicy Cashew Nuts as well as the banana.