In the sheltered garden next to the hotel swimming pool is is this fine yucca.
Through a basement window a hand and iron and an ironing board. The beginning of a story. Or the end of one.
Outside a pub in The Pantiles an elderly man is sitting on a bench a half pint of beer in front of him. He greets two men who pass him on their way in."Hello boys," he says "late on parade!" It is 11.20 on a Saturday morning.
strangely, in certain neighbourhoods in portsmouth, being "on parade" means losing your temper in public
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