Back in the olden days, in the long-ago twentieth century, there was a teenage pastime called ‘Hanging around record shops’. The pastime attracted all types: the boys (mostly) and the girls (sometimes), the cool and the gauche, the loners and the crews.
Abandoned shopping trolleys are everywhere once you start looking out for them, littering the streets like grimy analogues of the sun-bleached skeletons of imaginary deserts. What do they signify, these forsaken machines of the retail hunter-gatherers?
The shock of the stocks in Woodstock being (and please pardon the hyperbole, reader, which was all for the sake of an arresting post title) that they have five leg-holes. Whether criminals in this part of Oxfordshire were required to have just one leg immobilised or whether the odd hole was reserved for the one-legged is unclear.
A wall is almost always just a wall, but there is a wall in Cardiff that is a menagerie in stone. By Cardiff Castle, animals and birds sit and sprawl atop the gables of a wall, frozen creatures gazing out over Castle Street.