It takes six men three days to free a caravan whose legs have sunk deeply into summer soft tarmac.
Job done, the digging biggers stood around drinking beer.
“You oughter move it in case it sinks again.”
Big fetched his truck and after a couple of false starts they hitched up.
With the paddock gates propped open Big climbed into the cab and engaged a gear.
The truck inched forward, but then the engine revved wildly while the caravan slewed sideways embedding itself in the paddock fence with a screech of tortured metal.
Hamish grinned. “Bugger my nuts,” he said.
An everyday story of concrete folk: Fourteen
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