Yesterday's air was viscously thick. Three of us: Boy,
Dog, me: pad on foot. Mr commands a bicycle. We all pant. The chap at the
cottage is out painting and while we stop to rediscover normal breathing he
bemoans the loss of lead in paint. It used to be so much tougher, the old style
stuff.
There's a high percentage of eccentrics per capita
here.
There's us in our lycra mixes and him in his overalls
that are for coloured painting jobs. The other pair do for white paint. He
laughs while he says this, though he misses the old style of paint.
'Well, you always knew a painter and decorator, in
those days, they were tall and very thin.'
'From the lead poisoning?' Mr suggests.
'Well, yes.' He chuckles. 'That's right. From the
lead.'
He leans on some fresh sage-green paint, but it's
okay, he knew he would do that. He has the colour paint overalls on.
When we are able we say goodbye. We run to the river
and clamber on rocks till we are all in the cool water. Dog wins the swim
event.
On the way home, Boy takes the bike and goes on ahead
to buy breakfast eggs from the Nextdoor Chickens.
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