having lunched at tamarind house darryl and i go to the square, i to send some boxes and he to rent his graduation gown. he was pushing his bike along, slaying herbaceous borders all the way, and i was trying not to fall over with my handcart, and half way through we took pity on each other and exchanged our wheeled burdens. the previous week i was crossing the road and stubbed the wheel of the handcart on an uneven patch of ground (it felt rather more like going over a crater) and there was a terrible crash. the hand cart went over, the boxes tumbled out (one of them split at its edge,) i fell over the cart, oncoming motorists horned angrily, and two kind gentlemen picked me up off the ground and deposited me on the pavement, a bruised and confused heap. darryl, however, navigated the pavements skillfully, and i didn't shear off half of cambridge's garden hedges, though i kept running the bike into darryl's feet. i don't kill shrubbery, just people, i apologised. i meant to go along to the coop to see darryl try his gown, but the post office queue was long, so he deserted with a cynical "man man deng hor." (have a long wait.) ungallant, but understandable, she admits.