“Damn!”
The breeze rises again, threatening to squall, classic Spring weather. One moment the sunshine is blistering. The next, clouds pile up, to sling down the kind of rain that only falls sideways.
The timber-panelled frame balanced against my left shoulder remains upright, but as the air gusts again, the one to my right, precariously propped against me and its partner, flexes, teeters, then in graceful slow-motion, falls…
“Ah, f*****g hell!”
hell!…Still gripping the left-hand panel, I snatch out, but too late. The breeze makes another playful flick, tugs the remaining panel from my grip, and it too collapses, the two lying flat as a pair of Friday night drunks on the grass.
The gust dies and the air falls still. Suddenly, it’s clammy. Swirls of gnats rise. Hands clasped behind my
