Saturday

  • the warmth smell and creases, a shared bed. Of a morning
  • some chickens are just dandies. Trousered thighs with sheen, gloss, dots, all decadent vulture’s hocks. Where avian nature revels in feathers as a folly. And doesn’t it know it.
  • the crowd bleeding towards around into the ’G for a big game. Laughter, banter, dense palette of crude colours amongst kick to kick with the kids. Such a sea of something in common.