a chat with Gran

I’m just waiting for my eggs to boil. Eight minutes, rapid boiling mind, as I want them for my lunch tomorrow. Did I tell you about tomorrow? I’m sure I did, you must have forgotten. The Probus group are all going out to Matamata for Shirley Henderson’s roses. Beautiful white ones she has, I’ve never…

suburban jungle

Sometimes Harriet took cuttings from other people’s gardens. She usually did it in the evening, while people were inside cooking their dinner and watching the six o’clock news. The light was a dark blue then, the scent of frying meat on the warm evening breeze. She liked to slip out of her side gate and…