Maggie’s exhibition is in the gallery across the road from us.
Mid morning I take a coffee across to her
Lunchtime I take her a cup of tea
Mid afternoon I take her another coffee.
When the workmen are mowing the grass outside the library, they look at the mugs longingly.
If there are any visitors in the gallery when I arrive, there’s a brief moment of expectation they might be offered a mug.
If any visitors arrive just after me, their nostrils flare slightly and they glance around, wondering if a pot might be on.
In the cold damp weather of recent days, forget the art – we’d have made a fortune if we’d opened a café instead.