When I was a poor struggling garret bound would be writer I naturally enough attended a post grad course on how to be a writer.
Turns out I suck. And you're better off reading Stephen King's On Writing and saving yourself several thousand dollars.
Anyway, one of the tricks we were taught is to pay attention to your surroundings because you would get good material that way.
So ... the three stand outs from my trip to town are...
The tiny middle aged man dressed in new blue jeans, a shirt which still had the package creases on it, with his ensemble topped with a shiny blue Harlem Globetrotters hat ... walking along next to (I presume) his ten year old son ... who was taller than him.
The man on the street whose hands were filled with bags who elected to store a red petal fake flower between his teeth like he was about to, once he put his bags down, climb some sort of ivy clad lattice work and present the flower to a would be beloved.
And finally the young dad and his eight year old son in the toilets - the boy too short to reach the liquid soap dispenser - holding his cupped hands up to receive the soap squirted by his dad. His dad shouting out comically 'Are you ready for the cleanliness explosion?!'
Gold. All stored in the old memory bank when my self esteem recovers enough like a computer game health bar to actually try and put finger to key and finish off one of my many projects.