Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. It looks like some clouds have tripped and fallen across the sky. Three pigeons fly down the footpath. A dropped rubber band in the shape of a melting B. A parked car wearing a shawl of fallen blossom. That pile of logs like a DIY copse.

Ian McMillan's back off his holidays. The angle of that FOR SALE sign suggests I can buy the sky. The risen sun tries to set fire to a tree. A carrier bag in the driver’s seat of a parked car. A crow walks across a zebra crossing. Someone stands at the top of a set of steps, cutting their hedge,

Pinned tweet from Ian McMillan. "Fewer tweets for the next few days because I’m out and about. If you see me sipping espresso and munching cake in a cafe somewhere give me a cheerful thumbs up!"

Bonus Ian McMillan tweet. Fred, Doug and I carry the papers into the shop. Fred and Doug discuss chocolate eggs. Doug points at a carp fishing magazine. A workman buys water, energy drink, cigarettes. The running woman runs by.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. The sky’s long story goes on. A hopping magpie like an animated black and white film. The walking person on the footpath sign never gets anywhere. Where the traffic lights were there are ghostly glows. A man in a bright t-shirt asks me what time it is.

Bonus Ian McMillan. Fred, Doug and I carry the papers into the shop. Doug talks about the time he went to Barmouth for a fortnight and got two dry days. Fred remembers the time before coaches had air conditioning. Someone comes in and says ‘Where do your birthday cards live?’

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. Moss mosaics on a wall. Grey bins like extras in an absurdist film. A plane etches a line across the sky’s canvas. A man and his dog stand very still, then move at the same time. The old dancing school’s sign promises full training for the stage.

Bonus Ian McMillan tweet. In the paper shop a woman buys ten cans of Coke and says ‘Reyt, off to’t grindstooan.’ The woman from the care home buys flowers; her husband gets cash from the machine. Doug gets the shopkeeper to check his lottery tickets: no winners. No sign of Fred.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. Birdsong is partly brittle, partly liquid. A Lost Cat notice waits in a bus shelter. Maybe the sky is a selfie of the sky. The photo-realist streetscape. A dressing gown of mist by the river.

Bonus Ian McMillan. At the paper shop two workmen arrive for vapes and energy drinks. I remember that Fred said he wouldn’t be coming today. No sign of Doug. The woman from the care home comes in. I fold my receipt.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. A ghostly presence of smoke. A still pigeon punctuates a sloping roof. Birthday cards on a windowsill like folding time machines. A man in a camouflage jacket walks under a blossom-laden tree. The first bus drifts by.

Bonus Ian McMillan. He's at the paper shop, without Doug and Fred... I carry the papers into the paper shop. I am the only customer. The lights flicker on and the Slush machine cranks into action. I fold my receipt into my pocket.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. I consider the angle-less sky. That bin is so full it redefines the possibilities of space. The streetlight wearing that length of string as a tie. Dropped bits of orange peel like discarded earrings. Three crows on a zebra crossing.

Bonus Ian McMillan tweet. At the paper shop Fred and I carry the papers in. The shopkeeper opens the bundles with a sharp knife. Fred tells me he’s been to fill up with petrol already. The Slush machine lurches into action. Doug arrives later on Saturdays, bringing his neighbour.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. Clouds daubed across the sky. A blackbird hops rhythmically along a wall. A gull’s sound evokes the sea. Sawn-up trees make a DIY forest in a yard. That deflated, wrinkled purple balloon seems somehow sad.

Bonus Ian McMillan. Fred and I carry the papers into the paper shop. I show him the roll of masking tape I found on the pavement. No sign of Doug; Fred tells me he’ll be at home, watching his tomatoes grow.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. My visible breath, floating. Birdsong seems to echo off that snail’s shell. A gang of traffic cones gathering at a street corner. An empty tin of white paint, like its own ghost. The small horse wanders through the trees, looking for a folktale to inhabit.

Bonus Ian McMillan. At the paper shop... Two blokes come into the paper shop; one buys energy drinks, one buys a loaf and coffee. Fred shows me a picture of the fruit cake Christine made for him. The woman from the care home comes in. No sign of Doug.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. The sky seems temporarily heavy. Trees appear to lead simple, cyclical lives. I’m sure I had a shirt in the 1980’s in the pattern and colours of those tulips. A van almost loses the struggle against the hill. The traffic lights change from tomato to frozen pea.

Bonus Ian McMillan tweet. In the paper shop Fred tells us about a cake Christine baked him. Doug tells us about his haircut and a window latch. I finally collect my £2.80 Euromillions winnings. The woman from the care home comes in.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. Streetlights converse with the sky. A snail’s slow journey towards a fallen leaf. An ironing board leans casually against a wall. A new number on an old gate. The way the moon slices into that cloud.

Bonus Ian McMillan. At the paper shop... A workman comes into the paper shop. Doug asks him where he’s going and he says Skegness. When he’s gone Fred, Doug and I comment on how far that is for a day’s job. As we leave, the woman from the care home arrives.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. Mist by the river dreams of being fog. The sharp brightness of the moon. A champagne cork in a gutter. The pink pavement blossom tide is in. A timezone of dandelion clocks on a lawn.

Bonus Ian McMillan. In the paper shop. In the paper shop I talk about the rhyming clues I’m devising for our egg hunt later. Fred tells us he sat in the garden in the sun yesterday. He asks if I still litter pick and I nod. Doug will arrive later.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. A football in a garden, waiting for kick off. I imagine that row of terraced houses as a piano keyboard played by time. A bird lands in a tree,disturbing blossom. Someone shouts SHURRUP at a barking dog. That bare bulb still shines in that bare room.

Bonus Ian McMillan. He's flying solo at the paper shop. I am the only customer in the paper shop. The shopkeeper can’t find the scissors so has to pull the bands on the bundles apart. He switches the slush machine on.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. Security lights like burning monocles. A leaf in the shape of a croissant at the edge of the road. A map of fallen blossom on the roof of a parked car. The hill’s pact with gravity. A blackbird with one white feather: a scrap of snow on tarmac.

Ian McMillan tweets at the paper shop,where he introduces us to Chop. As I approach the paper shop I wave to Chop in his minibus. Fred and I carry the papers in. We talk about the bungalow with the pylon in the garden. Fred tells me he’s making a birdhouse today. Doug arrives later at the weekend.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. Morning is crossing the horizon’s red line. A long receipt on a patch of pale grass. A bath towel draped across a fence. The bread van turns a corner sharply; the rolls might be rolling. The cockerel replays its greatest hits.

Bonus Ian McMillan. At the paper shop... At the paper shop Fred and Doug can’t remember the name of a particular driving instructor. Doug recalls when there were no papers on Good Friday. We all laugh because I’ve still forgotten to bring in my £2.70 winning lottery ticket.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. As I pause to cross the road I am a piece of white-haired street furniture. Frowning clouds. An upside-down plant pot on the footpath. A chessboard on a low wall. The first bus revs at a red traffic light.

Ian McMillan's at the paper shop where there's talk of a lottery win... At the paper shop we all laugh because I’ve forgotten to bring my £2.70 winning lottery ticket. Fred says my brother told him I do three walks a day and I nod and say ‘Sometimes four.’ Doug asks about my new reading glasses.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. It is too light for shadows. It’s as though shards of birdsong are being chipped from a huge block of birdsong. That cat seems to be staring at the moon. Two crossed table legs making a wooden X in a garden. The rumble of a bin being dragged down a drive.

It's all going on in the paper shop. Ian McMillan's tweet. I do a comedy run towards the paper shop as I see the shopkeeper’s car approaching. We carry the papers in. Fred talks about the rain in Lanzarote. Doug hands his money over and asks the shopkeeper to check its right.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. Birdsong is translated air. Trees raise their branches to welcome the morning. A streetlight dreams of darkness. I imagine the letters and numbers on car number plates spoken sonorously by an actor. A small horse behind a tall fence.

Bonus Ian McMillan. At the paper shop. At the paper shop a grinning man buys vapes. Fred tells me he saw my brother walking by yesterday. The shopkeeper tells us that Doug has been arriving at 6.30. Fred tells me it’s 382 miles from his house to St Ives. The woman from the care home comes in.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. Parked cars dream of moving and moving cars dream of being still. The footpath like a dried up stream across the field. Someone waits temporarily at a temporary bus stop. A mosaic of memories in a skip. A ceramic horse on a doorstep.

In the paper shop. Ian talks cats with Fred and the woman from the care home arrives. In the paper shop Fred buys cat food, tells me he found his cat as a kitten wandering round The Bottoms nine years ago. We swap observations about the moon. The woman from the care home comes in. No sign of Doug.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. The glowing eastern sky like the first paragraph of a legend. The moon sits on a bungalow roof. The delight of walking under a blossom-laden tree. All those shattered bottles. I imagine that each blade of grass I pass could sing a different song.

Bonus Ian McMillan. A regular missing and a new character introduced. At the paper shop Fred and I carry the papers in. He tells me he’s working in the garden today. The silent bloke comes in. I tell Fred I’ll see him on Monday and he says ‘All being well’. Doug comes in later on Saturdays.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. An indiscriminate scattering of birdsong. Shapeshifting mist by the river. A snail’s trail like a dropped necklace on the pavement. I see the paper van wending its way through the village. The moon’s unfathomable looming presence.

Ian McMillan. Bonus content. At the paper shop there are no papers. Fred, Doug and I gather disconsolately. The shopkeeper tells us they may arrive by nine. Doug tell us about the person who thought Tickhill was on the coast. We decide to regroup later. The woman from the care home comes in.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. The sky is dreaming itself lighter. Those new gates are waiting for their opening ceremony. A stream of red brake lights. A toy horse in a real garden. The huge emoji moon.

Bonus Ian McMillan. In the paper shop... In the paper shop Fred and Doug are deep in discussion about fence paint when I arrive. I take my woolly hat off and Fred says ‘Now we can recognise thi!’ The woman from the care home comes in.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. Early stroll. The wooden flag of a For Sale sign. A bird hops ahead of me like it needs flying lessons. The empty bus shelter by the cemetery gates. I turn east down North Street. A fridge crowded with magnets in a lit kitchen.

Bonus Ian McMillan. In the paper shop... In the paper shop Doug tells us that Cleethorpes was warmer than Benidorm yesterday. Fred tell us to look at the impressive range of fanbelts next time we’re in Worsbrough Motor Spares. We all remark on the mist’s sudden arrival.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. By a trick of the light, a blackbird appears to fly out of a letterbox. The hill is its own unfinished self-portrait. I walk through a flurry of fallen blossom. Grass is growing around that collapsed wooden fence. A vague, almost apologetic, smell of smoke.

Breaking News from 'In The Paper Shop' - Doug is back! Ian McMillan explains... As I enter the paper shop, Doug is telling Fred that he thought they meant Southampton when they meant Sheffield. Then we all talk about tarmac and Pinfold Lane.

Ian McMillan's early stroll tweet. A streetlight’s illumination bathes a tree. Birdsong floats from the cemetery. I am three minutes earlier than usual, so I see different people or the same people in different places. An artist’s palette of tulips. The dark interior of an abandoned cardboard box.

Further adventures from Ian McMillan - In the paper shop. In the paper shop Fred drops a 5p piece and we both decide it’s lucky. He points to a barbecue fork on sale and says ‘That could be dangerous.’ The woman from the care home comes in. No sign of Doug.