Friday, June 17, 2011

One on each knee, service and excluder.

1. She swaps her breakfast bar stool with the mother sitting on a kitchen chair so she can take a solemn pre-schooler on each knee. "I don't know what you do if you have three," she says.

2.  She isn't serving me, but seeing the sling and the sleeping baby, she picks up my dropped umbrella and offers me a small bag "So it doesn't get your shopping wet". She says of the dead-eyed man behind the counter: "He's got a new baby."
"Two months," he tells me, which explains the glazed expression and the swaying.

3. To put the draught sausage across the bottom of the door.

Rind, mustering and moon.

1. The crack of pumpkin rind as I bring the knife round the lantern lid. 2. Now they've been pointed out to me, everywhere I go, I see t...