Crisp, my aged companion, stopped to observe the sculpture.
“This reminds me of a joke my dad used to play with me. He’d hold his hand palm up with his fingers sticking up and say: ‘What do you call one of these?’ And I’d not know so I’d say: ‘I don’t know.’ He’d then reverse his hand and say: ‘A dead one of these.’”
Crisp chuckled at the memory it stirred in her mind; I don’t think she had to clear away many cobwebs to remember that one.
“Your dad was quite a character,” I said as we both took in the sculpture.
“Made me laugh, still does,” she said and she had one of those wistful looks on her face as we made our way further along the street, where to our amazement…