It was so cold that day. I was standing outside the two cathedrals of Coventry, one huge and very modern, the other in ruins after that terrible night during World War Two.  There was snow on the ground and my fingers had turned bright red.  No gloves, because I'm stupid.  A metal camera turning icy to the touch in my hands.  I just wanted to take my pictures and leave for somewhere less Arctic in its general temperature.

But snow wasn't the only thing on the ground.  There was a squirrel sitting close by, just watching me from behind the railings.  On a whim, I turned to photograph it too, but it must have been suddenly camera shy.  It took off as I snapped it.

It was an abortive picture, but still cool to see the squirrel darting out onto the pedestrian cobblestones.  I still held my camera up by my face, wondering if I could get a better photograph before my fingers fell off.  Or frostbite set in, or something.

Then the squirrel changed course.  To my stunned delight, it came right up to my foot and looked up at me.

Still the creature was so fast that I could barely get it in the frame.  I was clicking away like mad, but as soon as I had him, he was gone again. 

I was starting to draw a little crowd, as passers-by paused to giggle at the over-familiar squirrel.  None of us expected what happened next.  The squirrel climbed, not up the nearest tree, but up my left leg.   To cries of 'Wow!' from a young lady watching, the creature arrived on my breast and peered inquisitively into the camera lens.

NOW!

It was too close.  It was too fast.  My camera, for all its idiot-proof genius, could not focus quickly enough.  I got the picture, but, as you see, it was all a blur.  To be fair, I didn't care too much about Zazzle or anywhere else just then.  I was too busy being enchanted by this squirrel and the fact it was scampering all over me.

Unfortunately, the camera must have appeared very boring upon its inspection (or simply wasn't food after all), because the squirrel immediately darted across my chest and ran down my other leg.

At least I finally got it in focus!  And a round of congratulations from the onlookers, as we all tried to work out how that just happened.

As for the squirrel, it took off across the old Coventry Cathedral grounds in search of a new diversion.

My cousin and I are walking down the street, side by side but sixty years apart. 

I'm not talking about age.  We're the same age, give or take nine months (I was apparently such a cute baby that my auntie wanted one; she got him).  I'm talking about where our heads were at the time.

This was Coventry.  He owns a security business (EMK Events Ltd for ALL your crowd control needs); I'm a historian. He was here on business, as his company are providing the crowd safety for a major event in the city.  I'm there with a camera to photograph the scenery for Beautiful Britain.

"That pub's Victorian."  I tell him, as we stroll along a busy street.  My head is turning back and forth like I'm watching a tennis match, looking at the buildings on one side of the street and comparing them to the other.

He nods, "I wouldn't like to take their business.  It's a bit rough down here."  He would. He'd work out a strategy to deal with the rough customers.  He's always telling me that he wouldn't get involved with such and such a venue because of its troublesome clientele.  Then a month or so later, there is no troublesome clientele, because his security officers are ensuring it.  "And that's a bit of a dive."

"I don't think Hitler agreed with you."  I opine, still comparing buildings.  On one side of the street, it's all 19th and early 20th century architecture.  On the other side, the entire terrace is that bland and frankly awful 1960s concrete block style.  But this IS Coventry, ground zero for Moonlight Sonata on November 14th 1940.  A beautiful name for the most devastating single night, on a single city, of the Blitz. "He left that whole side standing."

"Yeah."  said my cousin, in a tone of voice which suggested that was yet another travesty to lay at the door of the Third Reich.  "He did."

I just love how two people, walking along the same street, have such different perspectives on what they see.  It makes for some interesting conversations.