As I left the train station, rounding the corner to emerge onto the busy street that is usually bedecked with traffic at that time of the morning, I saw something I wasn’t expecting.
Two horses. Standing on the pavement.
If I hadn’t known I was completely sober (not even a sneaky drink last night), I would have thought they were a drunken vision. You just don’t expect to see horses in the middle of the city, especially two such lovely Lloyds-esque specimens.
They seemed unfazed, just standing there, minding their own business, occasionally swishing their tails if the cars got too close. But my caffeine-deprived brain couldn’t take it in. All I could think was two horses? In Eastville? Why are there two horses on Stapleton Road? Are they escapees from a farm? Have they taken a day off from cider production to see the sights of the big smoke? Or do they just want to stock on up jumbo bags of rice at Masala Bazaar?
It wasn’t until I crossed the road and saw that they were next to a lorry containing a black carriage, and the building behind them was a funeral directors, that the penny dropped.
Early morning + no coffee + no glasses = dire consequences for my reasoning.