Roys was all in darkness as I passed. Yes, it was definitely loud male voices, coming from the far end. I could hear quickly-moving footsteps, too. Oh no!

On other nights there have been car engines whining and smoke rising from spinning wheels, as young experts treat each other to a tyre-melting demo of top driving, to the sound of primeval, deep thumping on the stereo.

But this lot must be running about! They were on the loose! Wuss being my middle name, I walked faster, preparing for some catcalls, if I was really lucky, or maybe even getting mugged ...

Turning the corner by Roys, I caught sight of them for the first time. Rows of them. Marching up and down. In smart uniforms. With shiny boots on.

There was shouting all right – but it was of the "Qui-ick march" variety. It dawned on me, with a mixture of relief, shame and delight, that they were cadets, practising for a parade.



Things are rarely what they seem. Take pavements, for example. They are supposed to be the organic, quiet end of the Queen's Highway. Havens of safety for those on shanks's pony.

Not any more, of course. You stand as good a chance of being run over on the pavements these days as in the road. That's old news. The collisions now are just as likely to be between the pavement-riders themselves.

Idly gazing out of the window the other day, drinking a cup of tea (Saturday afternoons just fly by in my house), I witnessed an M62-type near-miss on the pavement across the road.

I watched with growing amazement as, one behind the other, an elderly lady and a gent (I don't know if they knew each other) came truly whizzing along on electric buggies. The man was gaining on her as they approached the corner and he hurtled for the overtake as the pavement widened on the curve.

Except that I could see, but he couldn't, a wheelchair just feet away behind the corner wall, about to be pushed into their path.

As I was still spluttering, having inhaled a choccy digestive with pre-traumatic stress, the buggy drivers executed swerves that would have done the Red Arrows proud – missing a pile-up by inches.

Don't mind us!