A pair of shoes advertised in a catalogue are referred to as plimsolls. That's what we all had at school for running and gym. Plimsolls, canvas shoes with rubber soles! That was a long time ago, before trainers, and the cult that goes with them. Welcome back plimsolls.
In a shop window, two books on W G Grace display his bearded face on the cover. The greatest cricketer of all time, they used to say. But no one expained why he was. Even when I was young there were few people around who had seen him play. I wonder if was as good as they made him out to be. A hero for some, but to me there is something shifty and calculating about the eyes beneath the horizontally striped cap. Perhaps, he is thinking about the outfield and how to steer the ball between cover point and mid on. But, as I examine the photographs, I begin to suspect that there is something more sinister going on in the old boy's mind. How refreshing if there were!
As we sit in the garden a voice or voices come up the road and over the hedge? What is the language? How many people? Is it a party? A riot? Spanish I say. I go and look. I am right. It is one Spanish girl sitting on a doorstep on a mobile phone.
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