Sweet Caroline

Sharing my name with a song never failed to embarrass me!

HE'S singing at me again. I'm guessing he doesn't realise how it makes me H feel, but I don't know how to deal with his big personality and friendly confidence.

Morris finishes his performance, then, blushing, he smooths his baker's apron over his bulk.

I attempt a polite smile, wishing I'd never told him my first name.

"What can I get for you this week, sweet Caroline?" Morris asks, gesturing to his array of cakes, breads and pastries.

"A small brown loaf, a plain scone and..." I hesitate, wondering if my finances will stretch.

"I'll have a fairy cake, please."

I make a point of supporting local shops, and I love my weekly trip to the Jolly Baker.

The sweet caramel aromas, the displays of sugary, pink-iced doughnuts, delicate fruit tarts, cream-filled pastries and hand-crafted artisan breads are glorious.

Every week there's something else to marvel at and savour.

Morris grins and hands over my items.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"A small bag of birdseed for the ducks. Thank you." Struggling to find my purse, I put my folder on the counter.

"Whitford Singers!" Morris cries, his face animated. "What a coincidence.

"That's where I'm heading when my nephew comes back from his lunch break.

"I finally plucked up the courage and auditioned last week, and they've accepted me."

He hands over my change, beaming, promising to see me later.

I can't escape the bakery fast enough.

Morris is a nice man, but something about his larger-than-life persona scares me.

We couldn't be more different.

I walk my usual route through the park to the church hall. On my way, I stop to feed the ducks.

With my trip to the baker's, the park and choir practice, Wednesday is my favourite day of the week.

I'm one of life's observers, always on the sidelines, even when I wish I could join in.