“What’s on the menu for today?” I asked, looking out glumly at an increasingly damp and miserable-looking day.
“We need to go to the dump.”
“Oh, what a joy.”
It wasn’t so bad, really, and in answer to my curiosity bone we took time to do a little exploration of the nether-regions behind the council dump and running alongside a monstrous viaduct carrying the main road past Briton Ferry and across to Swansea. I’ve not verified my facts but it seems to be ex-industrial land that’s been flattened and made over to provide static facilities to accommodate gypsies and other travelling folk. Rather frightening to find such a place so close to civilisation. We did not stop.
Back home, lunch time, and a failure to agree on the better choice between pasties and sandwiches. I did not fancy making sandwiches, and Graham didn’t fancy buttering the bread to make the job a little easier for me.
“Looks like pasties after all, then,” I said.
“You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, of course not. It’s just that I fancied some nice cheese salad sandwiches.”
“Sorry. My back’s not up to counter work today. Told you we should have picked up fish’n'chips on our way back to the house.”