Hawker...

Just bought a kneeling mat and gloves for the garden, and some yellow dusters, not for the garden. Those who know me will laugh, perhaps even wonder at this, but you see, there was a Hawker at my door. He interrupted the last blog-posting with a polished, if rather nervous, doorstep routine, featuring feather dusters, podietal cheese graters and a truck load of other things nobody can pretend they want. I felt the need to need at least one of these things, and do, whenever a Hawker arrives at my door. I'm not impressed by my actions, don't feel holier than thou, but did feel a kind of empathy with him, being a hawker myself, of far more useless items i.e my stories. Only my hands aren't blue with cold, I haven't lost the gloves someone kindly bestowed upon me just last night, and I haven't perhaps fifty more routines to perform on fifty more doorsteps. I hope fifty more people need something, and buy from him, and that his day isn't depressing. Because the weather is turning and there are selection boxes and tinsel ribbons in the shops. And soon I'll feel the need to need them.