Sutherland Road, clockwise. 8.30am.

The gales have put things out of step. A blast ruffles the feathers of a feeding crow, making him jump; and a commuter, mack belt flying, jogs for his train.

Claremont Road, clockwise. 4pm

Half-a-dozen little boys kick a football on the sodden grass, spattering mud on faces and clothes. A dad looks on, unconcerned by washing and muddy footprints on the hall floor.

Sutherland Road, anticlockwise. 8.30am.

He wrests each painful step from his ill-balanced body. I rejoice at the easy swing of my hips, but I notice a twinge in my back and I am afraid.

Claremont Road, anticlockwise. 4pm.

Both the light and air are flat but for:

• Burning orange indicators
• Ranked daffodils
• Red edging on a schoolboy's blazer
• A treeful of starlings dropping trills and pips and whoops.

Belgrove, anticlockwise. 10.30am.

A greyish toy lamb enjoys the sun on the warm tarmac while a little girl swings. Her mother on the next swing waits for her family to grow up.

Compasses Passage, anticlockwise. 2pm.

A jackdaw, stretched beak to tail and wingtip to wingtip, folds, bounces once, bounces twice and lands. It walks on across the grass as if it has always been there.

Claremont Road, anticlockwise. 1.45pm.

Behind me on the path smart hard shoes tap-tap-tap and a quiet conversation carries on. Ahead, a man stands at the pub door, pint in hand, enjoying sunshine and cigarette.

Sutherland Road, clockwise. 10.00am.

I am halfway round when I see that my own sad thoughts have totally driven the park from my mind and I have to tell myself firmly: 'Be here now.'

Sutherland Road, anticlockwise. 2.30pm.

The sun slaps down shadows, falling criss-cross and anyhow across the lawns. A passing cloud sweeps away light and shade, flattening contrasts and the park is tidy once more.