Standing at the bus stop. Lilac blooming in a front garden opposite. I push my hands into the pockets of my coat, and I pull out the contents – a 5p coin and a penny, a receipt from the co-op, raffle tickets from the film screening a couple of weeks ago, a screwed up foil ball of a once creme egg and a shrivelled conker, dimpled, leathery, dull. I still collect chestnuts, but then forget them and find them and remember. A totem.