Here I am walking past a furniture shop with a load of mirrors in, and here I am posing, gazing at myself in all the aforementioned mirrors, one by one. I look in one mirror and arch my eyebrow like James Bond. I look in another mirror and stick my tongue out like a kid. I look in another mirror and put both thumbs up. I look in another mirror and pull a scary face as though I’m a Barnsley version of Edvard Munch’s Scream. I look in the final mirror and do an exaggerated double-take, amazed to see myself looking at myself amazed to see myself looking at myself. I stroll on, satisfied, mirror-addiction fed for at least the next few minutes. A small crowd regard me with a mixture of sympathy and disgust but I don’t care. There were mirrors there and I had to look at them. Does night follow day? It does. Does Ian McMillan pose in mirrors? He certainly does.
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