Monday, 22 December 2014

The sun is low, boiler flues are pluming, the garden gate is slimy, and the old man with the eye-patch...



The sun is low, boiler flues are pluming, the garden gate is slimy, and the old man with the eye-patch, bandana, boot-cut jeans and biker jacket is bemoaning “All this bloody rigmarole for £1.63 in bloody pension credits...” to his neighbour, the tall thin man in the plastic reindeer antlers with the dew-drop hanging from his nose.

All of a sudden hailstones are bouncing off the Santa, Please Stop Here sign which is planted in the pot next to the fake plastic topiary bay tree.

In the street outside again and a woman with an anorak and a bag-for-life is talking to a group of other women with bags-for-life.
       “I don’t feel the cold anymore because I’ve got…” she stops to think for a moment, then turns to the woman in the enormous scarf next to her, “What is it I’ve got, Joyce?”
       “Diabetes” says Joyce.
       “No!” says the woman, suddenly remembering, “A onesie”.