I was walking along the main street of a small seaside town in the north of England looking for somewhere to make a phone call. My car had broken down outside the town and I wanted to contact the AA Company. Low grey clouds were gathering across the sky and there was a cold damp wind blowing off the sea which nearly threw me off my feet every time I crossed one of the side streets. It had rained in the night and water was dripping from the bare trees that lined the street. I was glad that I was wearing a thick coat.      There was no sign of a call box, nor was there anyone at that early hour whom I could ask. I had thought I might find a shop open selling the Sunday papers or a milkman doing his rounds, but the town was completely dead. The only living thing I saw was a thin frightened cat outside a small restaurant.      Then suddenly I found what I was looking for. There was a small post office, and almost hidden from sight in a dark narrow street. Next to it was the town' s only public call box, which badly needed a coat of paint. I hurried forward, but stopped in astonishment when I saw through the dirty glass that there was a man inside. He was fat, and was wearing a cheap blue plastic raincoat. I could not see his face and he did not even raise his head at the sound of my footsteps.       Carefully, I remained standing a few feet away and lit a cigarette to wait for my turn.  It was when I threw the dead match on the ground that I noticed something bright red  _ from under the call box door. At what time was the story set?
An early winter morning. A cold winter afternoon. An early summer morning. A windy summer afternoon.