He was even singing what sounded like ‘Sugar. Ooh honey, honey.’ A note on the kitchen table put a temporary stop to his warbling. ‘Les. I got to bed a bit late. Could you wake me by one? Thanks. Jimmy.’ Norton looked at the note again, then tossed it in the kitchen-tidy. Yeah, I’ll bet you got to bed late, you rotten little shit. After you stole my girl off me. Bastard. Les shook his head. Shit, I’d better not laugh. I’ll only get into more strife. He poured a glass of orange juice, had a look out the window and figured out what to do. It wasn’t too bad a day; sunny, with a few clouds around, a bit of a southerly ruffling the tops of the trees. However, it wasn’t a matter of what to do. It was what had to be done. His sheets. If they dried out he’d have to break them up with a piece of four-by-two to get them in the washing machine. I’ll do that, then have breakfast down the beach again. Stuff cooking anything. Les finished his orange juice, then bundled up any dirty T-shirts as well and trotted downstairs to the laundry.
