It was a strange scene. They were on Llanbadarn Road. First I heard him calling her name. She was a tall girl, with long hair. Evidently intent on ignoring him she kept on walking before deciding to sit down on a low wall. He sat down also, about 500 yards away. Neither said anything. The odd thing was the third person, an older man in a high-vis jacket. Leaving the boy and walking over to talk to the girl (Hi, she said) he seemed to be the mediator. I turned round once more (I was heading towards the junction) and saw the boy push himself of the way and lope his way over to them.
The home-going students all seemed to be coughing as I walked through town. We discussed it over breakfast. Selfish, he called it. Perhaps they haven’t been taught to put their hands over their mouths, I replied. Coughing is the new smoking. Hated and feared. They do it nonetheless. I don’t want to judge them. They are as much a part of this town as the seagulls. Both equally noisy, at times. They’ve always done it at this time of the year (cough, that is). Perhaps we should be more charitable. They are young.
