Surrounded by the detritus of human existance
piled in untidy steaming heaps, Unclejohnny sits
eating Fray bentos steak and kidney pie with a
piece of celery as a spoon. Broken equipment,
magazines and newspapers. Left over scraps of
carboot sales, juicy titbits from the best skips
in town. Clammy car parts, a treasure trove
of forgotten history piled like snowdrifts against
the walls of his small room. At the centre of his
own universe like everybody, but his life is
orbited by castoffs, orphaned toys and a cloud
of devoted jackdaws.
