The wind picked up on the estate and Mrs O’Leary’s wind chimes chimed while the scrap men threw the old telly and garden swing over her broken fence.
Further down, the overweight old racist man with the moustache and the 1970s zip-up raglan cardigan with suedette detail was hiding the Asian children’s toys behind the wall by the bus stop again.
Down by the house with the ceramic cart horse in the porch, the kestrel that was perched on the steering wheel of the builder’s van, stared at me as I walked past.
Next door, the woman who always calls me ‘My dear’ was wearing her red coat with the leopard fur trim. She was unloading Lidl and Wilko bags from a taxi. She paid the driver and carried all six bags up her path at once, past the countless woodland creature garden ornaments that incorporate solar panels and lamps. I waved and she shouted “Hello, my dear!”
A funeral cortège passed through the estate. It was led by a man in a top hat and a cane. Mrs Perkins adjusted her vest top and put out her cigarette. “I don’t know who that was,” she said, “but you should always pay your respects, shouldn’t you?”
At the large, detached houses near the park, an elderly man in a fleece jacket told me that, ‘Steam railways make life worth living’.
At the house next-door-but-three—with the black BMW on the drive—another elderly man in a fleece jacket was in the garage. He was working at a Black & Decker Workmate whilst listening to Ken Bruce play The Three Degrees on Radio 2. A Tesco delivery van arrived. The driver was also listening to Ken Bruce playing The Three Degrees on Radio 2, “How are you?” he shouted to the Black & Decker man. “I’d be a lot better if the sun was shining!” the Black & Decker man replied.
At the golf club, the four grey haired golfers in black fleece jackets were gathered around the bearded, grey haired golfer in a black fleece jacket, asking him how much they owed him. It transpired that three of them owed him £25.00 and one of them owed him £28.00.