“I like my vacuum cleaners to look like vacuum cleaners not airships, or oxygen masks, or lilac lawnmowers, or frisbees! Bleedin’ disgraceful!” “It’s called progress, Granddad. Stop moaning.” “Pfft! It’s called change for change’s sake.” “What would you rather have, a fancy vacuum, or dirt?” “A housemaid.” That’s my Granddad.
The river luxuriated in its passage through an idyllic landscape. The sun shone, birds sang, and all was right. If the river could’ve chosen a final journey, then this was it. If? The workmen hated the river. Five years of labour ended with a turned valve; the dam sealed shut.