Ashes Lane from Kevin Boniface on Vimeo.
“Oh Septimus! Oh dear! I told you to go before we came out! Oh dear”, said the woman in the twin set and obvious wig to her King Charles spaniel.
Howard said he’d shot a rat at 6.30 this morning. He said he was pleased to have "got the bugger at last" but his neighbours had complained about the noise.
At Slack Farm, Mr Haigh came out of the milking shed carrying a coat at arms length. The lining was torn out and It was completely covered in shit and straw.
“Fucking cows have had us coat. They’re a set of bastards” he said.
“Eurgh, that's had it now hasn’t it” I said.
“Aye, normal folk would chuck it away; I’m gonna wash it”.
I followed him up to his front door with his mail; past the tractor with the mature ragwort growing out from under the seat and the neat row of four dead moles laid out on the garden wall. Mr Haigh told me that moles have a very keen sense of smell and “hands like people... if you smell of fags or booze when you lay the traps you’ll not catch any.”
I was about to enter the Community Health Centre when the receptionist burst out through the doors into the car park and vomited next to a Honda Civic.
Back at the office I saw Saj. He's been off work for a couple of weeks and when I asked why he told me he'd been stabbed.