Keeping Up With the Wassailers 

I’ve moved to a new area. Across the road, neighbours are wassailing in their garden. We move furniture outside, and I photograph the neighbours. I want them to know I’m musical too. I find an out of tune, blue, ukulele. I take it outside. Workmates are sat around on chairs, chanting by candlelight, and plucking parts of the chairs like strings. Our cats are nervous. They have yet to meet the local cats. I fuss them by the heat of the fire. 


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