Evening. My parents' dining room. The jasmine - which smells wonderful. And - The Ladder. The self-same ladder that my father has been using to ascend to the garage roof - I think he's finished doing whatever he's doing up there. The ladder does not belong to him. The ladder belongs to his contractor/friend Martin. I have no idea why this ladder (surely a security risk?) is still there. My mother vaguely says that maybe Martin has nowhere else to store it, but that seems both improbable, and no real reason for why it's been parked at the side of their house for 6 months. Sigh. One of the many, many strange queries that pop up when visiting home ...
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