MAGICIANS ANDWIZARDS
Dad always loved giving advice. Despite the fact that he often struggled to do the simplest of things, he still considered himself an oracle, like the times when the chain of my bike would come off. He couldn’t repair it and his resulting temper ruined those Sunday afternoons.That was years ago, mind, before he went off with the woman from round the corner. I hardly ever speak to him now, but I know he lives alone with his dog. Mum won’t let me see him: bad example, apparently. Last time I saw him was at the community centre, dressed up as Father Christmas for the Christmas party. I don’t know why he was chosen. I imagine it was because he had such a friendly red face that resembled Saint Nicholas’s, not to mention a beer belly that made his belt look tight as an elastic band. The smiles and friendliness were all put on though - and they had to do a job to conceal all his dark hair. * The park was the usual meeting place. Nobody went there much. Even the vandals who regularly set to work on the children’s playground had nothing to do. They found the miscreants; Jack the butcher’s son had engraved his name into the see-saw but the council refused to “waste any more money on the place”. Neglected, the solitary swing hung from its frame by a single chain, dragging its heels in the dust and revolving in the wind. The combination of painted faces and masks congregated here; it was no surprise that Frankenstein appeared deep in conversation with Dracula whilst a pair of witches cackled at a joke seemingly told by a ghost. I can’t say they looked particularly convincing, draped in old bed sheets and polyester capes - but, then again, I suppose I was in no position to question the authenticity of their guises. Nobody wanted to face accusations of being over-eager by being dressed in a more elaborate outfit.
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