observation

A new family arrives in the village. We pass two of them unloading a van: a dumpy middle-aged man and a slender teenage boy; they struggle with a battered and grubby looking sofa.  I thought at first they had loaded it into the van to take it to the dump it looked so rough. He smiles and I say hello. As we pass by, Sharon mumbles something about him looking "very working-class". I smile. 

 

Spindle...

Spindle's boyfriend is at her house again. Spindle, our octogenarian and emaciated neighbour - hence the nickname - has been with the new chap a few months now. Rumour has it that she is something of a black widow, wooing elderly men to marry her, presumably with the intention of outliving them. Having seen the new chap a couple of times now he looks decrepit - 'knackered' as Sharon puts it.

The overnight stays are a more recent development and conjure some disturbing images. The sight of her in shorts is unsettling enough; but the thought of her shagging the life out of him to speed his demise is too much to bear. It's simply wrong!

To make matters worse, it has not gone unnoticed that when chap stays over she puts her outside light on; it might not be red but one has the feeling that it serves the same function in letting the hamlet know what's going on.

As yet we've been spared the sounds of them banging; but it's bloody quiet here and with calm and balmy summer nights due that dubious pleasure may yet arrive.

a bit of excitement...

There is a bit of excitement for the locals this afternoon. A swarm of black bees arrives on the lookout for somewhere to colonize. After a flurry of excitement the drama is relatively short-lived. Our local bee keeper, Terry the Bee, meanders into action and calmly coaxes them into a portable hive.   Black bees it seems are more aggressive.  Terry rounds them all up before taking them off to permanent digs elsewhere, "Can't be having 'em round ere" Terry's wife Ange muses. Meekly, I nod in agreement. Having been stung by Terry's supposedly less aggressive bees, I am not about to argue for the interlopers to stay.  As I watch Terry and his winged charges drive away, it occurs to me how hectic some Sundays can be.