Toy

It seemed to be an innocent present. A toy car, one of those that can move on their own for a few metres once you move their wheels. I played with it for a bit. The makeshift road was less than a metre long. Then it was the real soil. It was full of movable stuff, it could be nuts peelings but they were softer. They made it more difficult for the car to move.

Then a more mean boy came to play with the car. He said: ‘hehe now you will see the car moving’. I had noticed that the car could move on its own accord sometimes, but it had not been difficult for me to control it so I had preferred to stay in the one-metre-long road.

He actioned it for a few seconds, and then the car actioned its own engine. A recipe for disaster.

The boy was a grown up guy who shared the house with me. He said he had lived with a landlady once who was a fanatic of showers, and gave regular lectures to people who bathed about the evils of bathing. We kind of agreed but then one time he was very dirty and very tired from some work in the allotment he had a bath. She was visiting; for some reason she had a way to know that he was upstairs having a bath. She asked the uncomfortable questions you ask some one you expect to be lying. But he didn’t lie and said he had needed a bath. Then she started: ‘you spend four times more water and you end up half as clean’. I thought that was OK for some one who was going to work with soil the next day.

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