" And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,
Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet. "
Below this shrub (The label, at the nursery said: " Will grow to two metres. " ) is the fence to our neighbours’ house. There are some young children. (See my previous comments.)
It is school holidays and from the other side of the fence, under this clear blue sky, not long after the winter solstice, comes the sound of shrill, children’s voices, filling the clean air with sentences full of expletives, wafting across the fence and into my life.
" I’m getting old ", my father, who will be 90 on Saturday, always says. Well, fortunately so am I and I’m turning into a Mr Wilson!!!!! or, if you’re from a younger generation, retired Mr Bush Sr, coming to live across the street, from Bart Simpson!
It annoys me!
" And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city
Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all ."
Jo, with the help of Banjo (A.B. Patterson)“_You are old,” said the youth, "one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—
What made you so awfully clever?_"
Said his father. "Don’t give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs_.
….and Lewis Carroll