Pinch punch

 

The Lad wanted a series of cartoon arrows for an animated sequence in a music video he is making, and this is what he got. In the end, he decided not to have the animated sequence, so help yourself. I would leave baskets of apples on the pavement, but I have no trees.

Pinch, punch, first of the month. I know an elderly couple who still play that game. I think the score rate is roughly 50/50, but one year he cheated and hit her before she had even woken up.

We are almost in Conker season. I would revive the tradition, but my hands hurt enough as it is already. 

We are almost in mushroom season too. Today is the perfect weather for it, but I have other things to do. A handful of Eastern Europeans will die as usual and an even bigger handful will poison their entire family with their foraging. 

One of the children who has not been sent back to school has just stopped to admire the pot of white gloss paint which someone dropped on the road outside at the very beginning of lockdown, when people were obsessed with redecorating their homes. The pot landed on the road itself and passing cars have spread it thinly along and around the bend past the traffic lights. There is evidence that the perpetrator panicked and brought the pot to the pavement, where it has been drizzled and spotted into a smaller pool, then he/she stepped in it and their footprints grow fainter and fainter as they snuck off in hot embarrassment.

In my mind this paint stain is a good plague indicator. Only when it has been entirely erased by the passage of time and traffic will we truly be rid of Covid 19.

The dark patch is a leaking water cock. The paint is more striking in the dry.