Sunday morning and I move around the local streets as, along with the usual piles of excrement, horse droppings the market people set up their wares on flat waggons, tables and, indeed, anything solid that comes to hand. I carry a large basket for there are many items to acquire for mother whose feet are troubling her lately and she has had something of a cough and sore throat since venturing out on a very hot day last week when, I do believe, her throat was assaulted by piles of rotting fruit, vegetables and liquids which were, by then, unsellable and were dumped in the streets in great piles. That rotting substance, along with the usual piles of excrement, piss and varieties of unclean liquids from the various houses, upset her constitution muchly.
I try to keep her in bed when she feel
