Our week starts like this. Monday morning we pick up rubbish for two and a half hours until morning tea. During this time we feel like retards.. green overalls.. no one’s come up with the retard logo yet. Sam, June, Sally and I have discussed at some length the image presented by the council gardener. We have decided to ask for a new uniform. And a new designation other than retard. It amazes me the image we are prepared to live with. More discerning citizens refuse any life below a certain style standard. But we’re a funny bunch, us Council gardeners, and self-willed. As though somehow we desire this.
On the plus side we’re easy to know, if you can live with a perfectly askew conversation.
From the retard point of view, it should be noted that money must sometimes have to compensate for one hell of a lot.
And also, in the world of wonk, non-style is the trendsetter.