Les on the fence

For some reason I imagine Les with a round of fencing wire, ambling along with his fat calves chubbing out between the cuff of his shorts and his boots.

Maybe he's thinking about the fence and boundaries and the lines the establishment want to draw between themselves and the bumpkins in the country. Those damn elites, he's cussing as he sees the fence and the metaphor and the delapidated possibilities he might turn it to.

An image, he thinks, is a description shaped by an inner intent. "Living in dailiness, a simple bread"

Ah, Les thinks, Judith Wright was good before she got all pink and green.