After the biggers had gone indoors Numpty Nome crept out onto the grass and pulled a small pile of papers into his favourite hidey hole. He smoothed them tenderly and smiled at the pretty pictures.
Brenda laid a huge but gentle hand on his head.
“What you got, Numpt?”
“Pretties, Mrs Brenda.”
She bent her head and found herself looking at pictures of caravans in all sorts of fantastical situations.
“Oh, caravans.”
“With horses?” That was Wee Willie.
“Nay lad. This sort needs bloody great Chelsea Tractors to pull them.”
“Wassa Chelsea Tractor?”
Brenda laughed. “You’ll see one soon enough.”
An everyday story of concrete folk: Eight
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