As I sat in Canterbury high street, it seemed to me that the city had lost itself.
I had walked through the clinical Whitefriars and down the high street and it just didn't seem to have that 'mystery' factor that made it different to other cities.
But I was to be proved wrong, and right, in one go.
I found a seat under a large tree near cafe rouge and read the paper. Soon people sat next to me. I can't remember most of them specifically, but they sat there.
A man then stood in front of me for quite some time. Then a little boy came up with another child, and a woman, perhaps his mother. The boy said to the man - who the family clearly knew "can I have an ice cream?"! "What's the special word?" came the inevitable reply, "please" the boy said.
And then, "you're looking smart today..." the boy looked at the man and waited.
I smiled, as did his mum and the man.
"He's learning quickly" she said and laughed.
It was nice to see some humour in the world; something that made the world such a good place to be.
And so there is something here that makes Canterbury different (and the same) from other towns: it wasn't the shops, or the fashions, or the tangible material things that made this world a lovely place to be. It is the people. Small moments, little actions. Real people, real life.
Its worth writing about.
