ButIhadtoseethepoolatBinfieldHouse.

    Ifeltreallybadthatm.ThefactwasthateversiruckLowerBinfieldI’dbeendrinkingalmosttinuouslyfromeveryopeningtimetoeveryclosingtime.Thereason,thoughithadn’toccurredtometillthisminute,wasthatreallythere’dbeennothiodo.Thatwasallmytriphadamouosofar—threedaysonthebooze.

    Thesameastheotherm,Icrawledovertothewindowandwatchedthebowlerhatsandschoolcapshustlingtoandfro.Myehought.Thequeringarmythat’ssackedthetownandcoveredtheruinswithfag-endsandpaperbags.IwonderedwhyIcared.Youthink,Idaresay,thatifithadgivenmeajolttofindLowerBinfieldswollenintoakindofDagenham,itwasmerelybecauseIdon’tliketoseetheearthgettingfullerandtryturningintotown.Butitisn’tthatatall.Idon’tmindtownsgrowing,solongastheydogrowanddon’tmerelyspreadlikegravyoveratablecloth.Iknoeoplehavegottohavesomewheretolive,andthatifafactoryisn’tinoneplaceit’llbeinanother.Asforthepicturesqueheshamtrifiedstuff,theoakpanelsaerdishesandcopperwarming-pansandwhat-not,itmerelygivesmethesick.Whateverwewereintheolddays,weweren’tpicturesque.MotherwouldneverhaveseenanyseheantiquesthatWendyhadfilledourhousewith.Shedidn’tlikegatelegtables—shesaidthey‘caughtys’.Asforpewter,shewouldn’thaveitinthehouse.‘Nastygreasystuff’,shecalledit.A,saywhatyoulike,therewassomethingthatwehadinthosedaysandhaven’tgotnow,somethingthatyouprobably’thaveinastreamlinedmilk-barwiththeradioplaying.I’debacktolookforit,andIhadn’tfoundit.AsomehowIhalfbelieveinitevennow,whenIhadmyteethinandmybellywasgoutforanaspirinandacupoftea.