Crumbly red brickwork, blue door.
Cerulean blue, sky blue.
I line up the shot.
"Hello." A small, elderly man has come up behind me. His sparse black hair is plastered wetly across his skull. "Something you like about that door?"
He thinks I'm an industrial spy.
"Yes," I say, "the colour."
I nod encouragement.
He looks at me sidelong. "Hm, well, yes, the colour...."
(He will entertain his friends with this story- "I met a right tosser this afternoon....")
He gives up on me, refrains from casting his eyes skyward (I'm bigger and fitter than him) and walks towards the blue door.