As he speaks a few brave ones come swooping to the bird feeders he’s already filled, while the others sit twittering and fluttering on the sidelines, perched on chimney pots and telegraph poles, waiting impatiently. I don’t remember seeing so many birds in London.

Suddenly Harry notices them and starts barking.

‘Who’s this old fella then?’

‘Harry.’

I try shushing him, as he’s scaring away the old man’s birds.

‘Sorry,’ I apologize, trying to calm Harry down and not having much success. Despite his limp, he’s lungeing and pulling on his lead.

‘What’s wrong with his leg?’

‘Arthritis,’ I gasp, struggling to keep hold of him. He’s really quite strong, considering.

‘Poor bugger. Me and him both.’

The old man smiles for the first time and bends down towards him.

‘Oh! Be careful . . . He’s a bit nervous.’

‘Hello, lad, got a poorly leg, have you?’

Too late. Ignoring me, he reaches his hand over the low wall and I freeze, with visions of him being bitten, or worse, but unexpectedly Harry stops barking and goes to sniff it.

‘There, there, lad . . .’

And now he’s licking the old man’s hand and letting him stroke his face and rub his ears. I watch, amazed. Even more incredible is watching Harry’s tail make its first smallest and bravest of wags.

‘Did you think he was going to bite me?’

‘No. Of course not,’ I protest, but I feel a bit guilty.

‘Turmeric.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘It’s supposed to do wonders for arthritis. Helps the inflammation . . . There’s something in it – I forget the name, but it’s powerful stuff. Better than ibuprofen, for the pain and stiffness. You can have it with honey or make a paste with it—’ The old man breaks off, as if embarrassed to be caught over-sharing. ‘My wife was always into all that kind of homeopathy stuff.’

Was. I notice the wedding ring still on his hand. He must be a widower.

‘Well, I must get on and finish these before I freeze to death.’

With a grunt he raises himself stiffly to his slippered feet. I notice the fleecy hems of his pinstriped pyjama bottoms, like the ones my granddad used to wear. See, he’s a sweet old man really.

‘Thanks for the tip.’ I smile and he nods.

‘Bye, Harry.’

He gives Harry a little wave as we walk away.

‘And think on,’ he calls after me, and I turn to see him gesturing at the poop bag I’m holding. ‘Don’t be chucking that dog shit in my dustbins.’

Hey you,

Guess what? I got a dog! He’s called Harry and he’s from the local rescue shelter. He’s a big black scruffy thing with a little white patch on his chest that looks a bit like a star, and he has this really long, bushy tail, though I’ve only ever seen it wag once as he’s so nervous and scared. But it was love at first sight. He’s got these big brown Disney eyes, and last night when he gently nuzzled his soft wet nose into my lap and looked at me, it was like he understood what it’s like to get your heart broken.