We were walking past a mess of a garden that a woman had made out of lines of old wellies, worn out crates, bits of tables, rusted bikes, broken doors and unmatched pots filled with anaemic weeds when Shirley said in a doom-filled voice embellished by a recent glimpse into heart failure, "That's what you'll turn our garden into when I'm gone !" and not wishing to cheer her up in any way I replied, "Well, at least you won't be here to see it !" and we walked on in companionable silence, each thinking dark thoughts about the other...well I think she was about me as I was immediately thinking of writing this !
