Colourful cast of characters up at The Glebe. Maybe the pandemic or all of this good weather that’s attracted so many volunteers to help out with the bucolic substances; the plants and the flowers and the tromboncino’s.
The Harlot Nun stands in the shade of the sycamore tree taking it all in. The Canada Geese swoop low over the breezy loch and the crows (Russell and Cheryl) wait for the next chance of food. All is quite still except for the click of secateurs and the chummy chatter of potato gatherers.
There’s Catheter Colin, Iron Arse and The Gloomy Demon all marvelling at the rude-brown mis-shapes. They hold them up to the sun and make Benny Hill jokes about their rudeness.
The Glebe is a place just seething with sexual tension. Maybe it’s the rite of spring all around or the rush of growth at summer’s end? The flagrant flowering, petals and stems? Or it could be forbidden fruit, this is manse territory after all and even John Knox must have felt horny on occasion (and did he think of Mary the Queen of Scot’s in chains?)
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