Summary
THE slow-sinking, evening sun still warmed the tread of weary workers returning home beneath the unlit street lamps down our road, but my view of the young man on the doorstep was partly obscured by the uninvited boil that was throbbing with considerable zeal on the upper slopes of my right nostril. Even so, enough of him had appeared in the frame for a swift appraisal. I sensed instantly that there was around him a halo of almost electric vibrancy, which reached its apogee in the spikes of dark hair standing on his glossy head with a jaunty pride that suggested a chap on the make with little time for life's trifling obstacles - an impression that was reinforced by his eager smile and sustained through his ash-grey suit jacket fastened at the middle button, to his broad black shoes on which two buckles glistened. Shoe buckles, I knew from past observations, were favoured by those, who would not hesitate to slake their ambition in some unsavoury activity such as politics, banking, or escorting bucktoothed spinsters to moonlight dinners. However, his purpose on this evening was to persuade us to switch the supply of our internet, 'The English love country very deeply' TV and telephone services from one company to another. As his honeyed words dripped like melon dew, my wife clattered on in the kitchen over a pan of steaming spaghetti - the lovely turquoise of her eyes intensified by the concentration that only minutes earlier she had been devoting to her energetic, though not entirely successful, forays into the uncharted realms of yogic flying.
When his spiel was completed, I told the young man that I was perfectly happy with our existing service.See the full content of this document
Extract
The Slow-Sinking, Evening Sun Still Warmed
He deflated before me like a balloon on Boxing Day, but then he swelled again for a final thrust. "In the end, it is ...
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