A broken pushchair meant driving to school this morning, and people watching from the safety of my car. A troubled looking man, underweight, black trousers with white trainers drags hopefully on his cigarette. I wonder if his tension will visibly ease once the butt is discarded. A group of pensioners alight the bus, cigarettes poised, lighter in hand. The journey from the valleys to our 'gateway town' perhaps buoyed by the anticipation of 'that' moment when the flame touches the paper, igniting the tobacco. To my right, a lady on the wrong side of the road, walking on a narrow cobbled stretch, heading for a dangerous place to cross. Her heeled shoes make for a clumsy stride, the cigarette helps to distract me - voyeur, and offers something for her to focus on. Mums head to town from their school-run, one pushes an empty neon pink pushchair with her left hand, her right hand is busy with a freshly-lit 'fag'. As she multi-tasks a man in a rush tries to navigate the fag, pushchair and her generous girth. I see her smile apologetically as he finally overtakes, but he reaches the pedestrian crossing and is soon joined by her again.
A final right turn before home, two lads in oil-stained overalls light up after throwing the plastic wrapper and paper foil packaging so it falls just shy of the bin. I think of Charlie Bucket as he feverishly searches for a golden ticket in his chocolate bar. I pull up outside my house, I spy a neighbour on the way to the shop. I go back to the car to get the coats, she's on her way home, grinning, as she passes she leaves a trail of smoke.