Because the summer is poor the gardens are lush. Gerberas, geraniums, double petunias day lilies, dahlias In the calm early Sunday we meet a girl dancing in pink. Her mother wants her up the path but she twirls and prances instead Further on, council daisies chorus us from rocky ground Along the parade a boy on his bike slips off the path to let us by, clips his father’s car. This man with too much muscle and not enough shorts, he shouts: ‘Do you have to fucking wreck everything I’ve got’ By the time I’m ready to speak we’re too far away, turning up from the sea, hurrying home to visitors