About ten past four, Parrot, with his wee chipped teeth, cycles by me on a "new-to-him" bike. He stands on the pedals in front of his big cousin who sits on the saddle and holds onto Parrot's t-shirt.
He circles round me.
"Another new bike, Parrot?" says I.
"Aye, m'uncle goat me it," says he.
"He did, he did," says the cousin, earnestly covering for him.
"M-hm," says I with a knowing look, "m-hm."
And Parrot lets out a big laugh and pushes down on the pedals and cycles off, faster and faster, into the sunset.