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"I suppose you enjoyed saying that little bit. Happy now? Go on," chided Mam, giving him a playful push as she passed behind him.
"You will have
the last bloody word, woman. You've got more mouth than Avonsmouth," he retorted, his veins bulging at the temples "And by the way, Alf, I don't want all potatoes. I'd like a few strawberries for a change," she said casually, ignoring his last remark to cool the situation, "Aw, go on, put in what you like. Isn't he funny, Ronnie? He'd quarrel with his own shadow, given half a chance." I thought I had better nod, so I did. "Come on. Let's go, or it'll be time to come home," said Malcolm impatiently, leaning against the doorway. After we'd sat through every mouthful of Dad's meal, we left for the allotments. Soon we were near to the allotment gate, so I ventured, "Dad, I'll tidy up them strawberries. Where by are they?" "Aw, take no notice. She was just looking for an argument. I haven't put anythin' in yet," he said, not turning his head, "and I'm sure the last bloke wouldn't have left any." When we had stopped at our strip of jungle, I asked, "Is this our 'perches', Dad?" Malcolm laughed, and promptly stepped back, in anticipation of a swing from the ol' man. "Well, I'd better go back and get them then," said Malc, serious like, turning his head away. "Get what?" asked the ol' man. "Our bows and arrows, in case we're attacked in there," he replied, quickly trying to take his hands out of his pockets. "You get your bloody shirt off, lip, and pull some of it up. Then you won't need any, will you now?" he bawled, ending our small talk. He threw his spade high into the air, landing some way over in the long grass. Then he shouted, "Where it lands, that's where I'll hang my hat." "Bin readin' those cowboy books again, Dad," I said laughing, walking in after it, with Dad and Malc following behind. - 4 - |