©Jane Goldsack

“Bing!” went the strings of my cart.
“Oh, no! Not ‘Bing!’ again?” I cried.
Then I cried. I was sad because this was a thing that kept on happening.
“Ker-ching!” went the cart-string salesman’s till. He ‘never’ cried at my misfortune – though sometimes he laughed (that is called ‘Schadenfraude’) and his name was Mr Carter (which I thought was apt).
With my cart fully restored, I returned to the hill of downwards racing. There were four or five (four or five is a bit vague; there were five exactly; but, I prefer vagueness to exactment) lads there still. Then one left, leaving just the four of them… and me… which made five once more. I was soon lined up to give the hill a go. My cart was poised. Then “Go!” shouted one of the lads. I went. I must have been half way down when the new untried strings went – I hadn’t worn them in properly; they were ‘too’ new – and “Bing!” Went the new strings of my cart. “Oh, no! Not ‘Bing!’ again!” I cried again, tears rolling down my face as I rolled down the hill with no brakes to stop my descent. I closed my moist eyes and prayed for a soft landing.


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