Put it away Max.

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Max is certainly an odd sort of person for me to have as a nephew. Twenty seven years old, lanky and with a beard and a messy mop of very lustrous hair, he has recently graduated from a university in the Netherlands studying something to do with bulbs. He’s a bit vague on the details much to his mother’s annoyance. I think she suspects that he might not have graduated. I cycled into the village with him at lunch time and sat for a while in the café/grocery shop/post office/hardware shop/butcher’s and baker’s. They have internet, hence my ability to update the world concerning my antics. The only thing I have in common with Max apart from genes is my liking for robins and black birds, but that’s a conversation hard to sustain. I didn’t see much of him when he was growing up, and now I’ve seen a bit too much of him, especially in the morning when he does a nudy run from his bedroom to the bathroom which is downstairs and back again. And it’s more of a sleepy saunter than a run. Well he’s French - that must explain it. After sitting in the café for an hour or so, using their WiFi and imbibing grotesque coffee, we pedalled a few kilometres to the shore where we filled several bags with seaweed. Natalie wants it for the garden, so I have become a kelp harvester.