Published: 08 May 2017

Returning home from work, Awen noticed their letter box hadn’t been cleared of the day’s delivery and a most official looking envelope protruded two thirds of its beige length from the slot. Retrieving the item along with a number of advertising fliers he entered into the house.

“Is that you Awen?” His mother called from the kitchen, her voice bothered.

“It is.”

“Are you in for tea?”

“I am and Ely said he would be as well.” Awen entered into the kitchen.

“I think I’ve left the spuds in a little longer than I should have,” Margaret announced while removing a tray of roasted potato medallions from the oven, discovering they had dried out, “never mind a good dollop of butter should fix them.”

“Those look burnt.” Awen pointed to a number of medallions on the outer edge.

“I’ll cut off the burnt bits; no one will know the difference and I’ll make a butter sauce.”

“There’s a letter here for dad from the solicitors.”

“Davis and Henderson?” Margaret asked as she quickened her pace from bench to stove, lifting lids and checking taste. All appeared ready and except for the potato medallions, to her expectation.

“No it’s from some joker named Pierce.”

“I wonder what that can be; your dad uses Mr. Henderson. Put it on the table, your father will be home soon.”

As Margaret spoke the front door opened admitting both Reg and Elyan, deep in conversation about their work. Neither approached the kitchen. “Go tell your father dinner will be in ten minutes and could you finish setting the table. There will be soup, use the deep bowls in the dining room cupboard.”

During their evening meal Awen remembered the letter and passed it to his father.

“Have you changed solicitors dear?” Margaret asked as he slit the envelope with his knife, leaving a smudge of gravy on the torn edge. Reg remained silent while reading the contents of the letter. Eventually he spoke.

“No it’s from Stan Pierce, he was Alice’s solicitor, he would like us to make an appointment to discuss her will and has suggested Wednesday afternoon if it is suitable.”

“I have the Women’s Association Wednesday, could you see him Reg?” Margaret proposed as she brought a tray of desserts from the kitchen. “Pass them around would you Awen but none for me.”

“She was your aunt Margaret, I think you should go. Besides he has asked to see all of us.” Reg folded the letter back into the envelope and indifferently flicked it onto the table top.

“What are you going to do with smelly old Alice’s house?” Elyan announced smirking at the idea of using it as his very own bachelor’s pad.

“It doesn’t smell Ely, I cleaned it after the funeral and don’t think for one moment you are going to use it for your deviancies.” Margaret snapped at her son. “By the way Awen, when I was cleaning I couldn’t get into the end room, when you were over there you didn’t see a key by any chance?” Although Alice had given Margaret a spare set of keys for emergencies, that room key was not on the ring.

“No Alice did show me into the room but she had the keys in her pocket.” Awen recollected.

“Never mind I suppose we can get Max Kidman from the hardware shop to have a look, he’s good with keys and locks.”

“Mum what are you going to do with Alice’s house?” Awen asked as he finished his meal.

“I haven’t thought about it love, why do you ask?” Margaret casually answered.

“Because when I was last over there Alice showed me an old trunk and asked me to look after it if anything were to happen to her.”

“I hope you’re not dragging some old box of rubbish back here.” Margaret retorted curtly.

“I said I wouldn’t let it go to the tip that’s all. I didn’t say anything about bringing it into the house, besides there is room in the shed, you can stack those old curtains on its top and it could fit in that corner near that old wardrobe.” Awen commenced to clear the table.

“I was thinking of clearing the shed.” Margaret proposed.

“Well until you decide, I could store the chest in there.”

“We’ll see.”

“Maybe we could let Sam live over at Alice’s.” Reg suggested.

“Are you trying to get rid of Sam?” Margaret exclaimed tersely.

“I didn’t say that woman; I thought he may like a little privacy when he isn’t out fishing.” Reg paused. “I’m off, I won’t be back until late so don’t wait up.” Reg stood from the table and as he was leaving spoke to Awen. “I want a word with you at work tomorrow.”

“Sure dad; what about?”

“Tomorrow will do son – alright?”

Once alone with his brother, Awen could not resist asking Elyan if he had an idea to what their father may wish to discuss with him.

“I don’t know but dad’s offered me a promotion.” Elyan proudly announced.

“Maybe he is going to give me your job.” Awen forwarded with vigour.

“I doubt it, besides if he were to ask me to suggest someone, it wouldn’t be you.”

“You know Elyan you always were a cunt!” Awen barked somewhat out of character while carrying a pile of dishes to the kitchen.

“It takes one to know one.”

“Such language boys, you’re not in the pub now.” Margaret warned.

Awen returned and whispered close to his brother’s ear, “cunt.”

“One of these days brother, I’m gunna knock your flaming block off.”

“Elyan I won’t have that kind of attitude in this house!” Margaret became most deliberate, “apologise to your brother.”

“It doesn’t matter mum, besides I started it by calling him a, -”

“I know what you called him and you should also apologise to Elyan.”

Both boys laughed and did so but once Margaret was out of hearing Awen couldn’t resist turning the screw, “but you’re still a cunt.” He repeated in the nicest possible tone he could conjure and received a clip to the back of his head for his trouble.

“Ow!”

“You deserve it little brother.” Elyan growled.

“All I did was call you a cunt,” Awen laughed.

“You pushing your chances, you know what I do to little shits who annoy me.” As he spoke Margaret returned to the room, “I’m off mum, the kid said he would do the dishes.” Elyan quickly departed company.

It was during morning tea when Reg Pen called his son to his office. Offering Awen a chair he commenced. “I suppose your brother has told you I’ve promoted him.”

“He has,” Awen admitted.

“How would you like to be foreman in the timber yard?” Reg dryly asked.

“What about Bob Fenton, he’s been here for years and knows more about timber than I will ever know, even Ray Travis knows more.”

“I’ve already put it to Bob but he said he wasn’t interested, as for Ray he takes too many days off.” Reg sighed despondently and sat himself on the corner of his desk, dislodging a pile of accounts to the floor. Awen quickly retrieved the papers, returning them to the desk.

“So I was second choice, Ely said he wouldn’t suggest me anyway.” Awen complained.

“Bugger Ely and you weren’t second choice as such, as you said I was obliged to offer it to Bob first.” Not satisfied where his son had placed the spilt papers, Reg replaced them further along the desk.

“If you think I can do it.” Awen answered.

“It’s not what I think, it’s what do you think – can you?”

Awen felt a tug of pride pull at his chest. He answered. “Of course I can.”

“Very well you have a think about it. Leave it with me for now and for god’s sake don’t you go saying anything to Ely, it’s none of his business who gets the job.”

As Awen left the office Reg called him back. “By the way I’ve made the appointment to see Alice’s solicitor for half-two Wednesday afternoon. You and Ely will come with me; your mother will collect Donna.”

“What about Sam?” Awen asked.

“Sam is away fishing and the letter didn’t mention Sam as such, just the Pen family.”

“Sam is family.” Awen protested.

“He won’t be home anyway, so that deals with it.”

Back in the yard Awen approached Bob Fenton on the matter of becoming foreman. “Hey Bob dad has offered me Elyan’s position.”

“I couldn’t have a better boss young fellow,” Bob grinned widely as he stirred two teaspoons of sugar into his mug of tea. “Want a biscuit boss?” He humorously offered pointing to his supply of ginger nut biscuits; “you are going to accept?” Awen accepted a biscuit.

“Suppose so, he has given me a couple of days to think about it, dad said he offered it to you, it should be your’s, why didn’t you take it?” Awen asked somewhat puzzled by his workmate’s refusal.

Fenton finished his tea and shook his head, “Sorry mate you will have to go to out of work meetings with Elyan and your dad, besides placing you a step between your brother and me suits fine and I reckon you’re more foreman material than I am.”

“Umm I didn’t think of Elyan, maybe I was a little hasty agreeing to the promotion.”

It was a tight fit as the Pen family entered into the reception of Pierce and Cornish with Reg begrudgingly leading the way. “Where’s Donna?” he asked of Margaret as the young receptionist stood to greet them.

“She wouldn’t come.” Margaret answered. Reg flashed a look of disbelief but remained silent.

“Mr. Pen,” the receptionist greeted, stepping from behind her desk to display the shortest skirt that decency would allow. With a warm smile she offered her hand, all the while her eyes directed towards Elyan bringing up the rear of the family group.

Reg accepted the greeting as a door leading into an adjacent office opened wide and Stan Pierce appeared, his hand outstretched. “Reg come in.” The man stood to one side to allow passage. “Would anyone like a cup of tea?”

“I wouldn’t mind a beer.” Elyan boldly canvassed while ogling the young receptionist. “Hello Elyan,” she extended to the young man and returned to her work station.

“Ely,” Margaret growled.

“Sorry Elyan all I can offer at present is a cup of tea, or coffee.” He called to his receptionist, “Sue,” The young blond girl returned to the office door.

“Yes Mr. Pearce.”

“No thank you Stan, what’s this cloak and dagger stuff all about?” Reg asked declining the offer of beverage.

“It doesn’t matter thank you Sue, have you finished that correspondence for the Clark account?”

“Almost Mr. Pearce,” she answered and once again gave Elyan a broad all knowing smile.

“Is she another of your conquests?” Awen whispered to his brother.

“She could be kid.”

Margaret pinched Elyan’s arm, “Shush you two.”

“Ow that hurt.” Elyan rubbed his pinched skin, pretending to be in pain.

“Don’t be a sook.” Margaret whispered while gently pushing her son towards the end chair.

Stan Pierce had prearranged seating around his heavy oak desk and noticed a vacant seat. “No Donna?” He asked.

“She couldn’t get away from work.” Reg lied.

“Oh well I’m sure we can progress without her.”

Taking pride of place behind the desk the aging solicitor ran a hand through his short greying stubble before placing a small pair of silver framed eye glasses halfway along his elongated nose. One bushy eyebrow twitched as he retrieved a set of papers from the desk. “How long have I known you now Reg?” He asked and cleared his throat. He straightened the papers.

“It must be more than thirty years.” Reg answered.

“I remember doing the soliciting for your father when he bought the mill.”

“Than it would be more like thirty-five, I guess I was a lad of around ten when dad bought the mill.” Reg corrected.

Stan Pierce had once been the Pen family solicitor but during a time when Stan was laid low with ill health, Reg migrated to Michael Davis of Davis and Henderson. Although Stan’s practice was known and registered as Pierce and Cornish, there was no one by the name of Cornish within the practice. Stan had registered his single operative practice as such to appear important as most solicitors in the district were of duel named, sometimes more as in the case of Ferguson, Trent and Jones from Watson Bay. After an extended period Stan Pierce recuperated and returned to practice but the Pen account remained with Davis.

“I suppose you are wondering why you are all here.” Pierce asked pushing his glasses further along his nose with a single finger to the bridge. No one answered but the solicitor could clearly see urgency in Reg’s manner.

“As you most probably guessed it’s to deal with Alice Thomas’ estate, your great aunt I believe.” The solicitor smiled and nodded towards Margaret. Without receiving acknowledgement he continued. “Well Alice had divided her estate between members of the said Pen family.” He nodded towards Reg Pen. “The bulk of cash, Three thousand four hundred pounds has been left to Margaret Pen, with Elyan and Donna to receive one hundred pounds each.”

“Great I can get that Triumph motorbike I’ve been looking at.” Elyan eagerly interrupted. Again Pierce cleared his throat and ignoring Elyan’s outburst peered across the top of his glasses to ascertain the family’s reaction. He continued. “Also Margaret, Alice has left Sam Ferguson your brother, the some of two hundred pounds.

Awen remained silent in the belief he was only to inherit the trunk that belonged to Alice’s brother Bert. He simply shrugged; he didn’t mind and was most pleased Alice had remembered his mother in her will.

“What about the cottage?” Margaret asked somewhat perplexed, believing Alice may have donated it to the animal shelter as she had often threatened.

“Yes the property at 13 Asling Street, the contents in whole and that within the two sheds she has left to young Awen here.” Pierce drew in a breath held it while training his vision on the surprise of the young man. Slowly releasing his breath he continued; “and a very nice property at that.”

“Why Awen!” Elyan protested loudly, bringing all in the room to notice.

“Elyan!” Margaret reproached, her voice hardly more that a whisper.

“That I couldn’t say. It was Alice’s wish, stipulating it must go to Awen, saying he would know what to do.”

“Is there any need for us to remain further, I have to get back to work.” Reg asked seeming somewhat disinterested in the procedure, believing the process could have been complied by correspondence or a simple telephone call.

“No Reg that appears to be all, I will talk to you about the paper work at a later date.” Pierce answered and filed the documents.

As the group departed Elyan again became interested in the receptionist and lingered in conversation until Reg had to call him away. “That’s a date,” was clearly heard from her as Elyan left the office.

Once back at work Reg invited his son to his office. “You do realise the property will have to be held in trust until you’re twenty-one?” Retrieving a small bottle of scotch from his desk drawer he was about to offer Awen a shot but thought better of doing so.

“Sorta I suppose.” Awen answered still somewhat bewildered that he not only inherited the old trunk but the entire house that held it.

“Would you like me to sell the house and invest the money for you?”

“No dad, I would rather keep it, Alice would have wished me to.”

Reg finished his drink and made a second. “Why do you think Alice left you the house?” He asked returning the bottle to the drawer.

“I don’t really know.” Awen answered remembering the trunk and his promise.

“Well I must admit son it’s fitting she left the house to you. Your mother and I haven’t any need of it, as for Elyan, he wouldn’t respect the gesture. Besides over the years you were the only one ready to give the old girl time.”

“Still I was surprised.” Awen admitted.

“As I said fitting, you better get back to your work, we have that load of weatherboards to get out for Joe Stanton this afternoon.”As Awen departed Reg called after him, “any decision on the foreman position?”

“I’d love to do it if still offering.”

“Righto it’s yours, tell Elyan I want to talk with him.”

Back in the yard Awen found his brother in conversation with Bob Fenton, or to be more accurate laying down the law on some procedure. Bob had a somewhat supercilious grin and gently nodded, while Elyan, with the use of a well aimed finger was enforcing his demands.

“Hey Ely, dad wants to see you.” Awen called on approach. Elyan turned.

“What for?”

“How would I know?”

While passing Elyan snarled in a low and calculated tone, “well you really crawled up smelly old Alice’s arse eh little brother.” Awen shook his head without responding.

“You know Awen I was this close to giving that brother of yours a right punch on the snout.” Fenton declared holding his thumb and finger at a distance of less than an inch to define his closeness.

“Don’t worry Bob, he’s going inside, dad has given me the foreman position but I still think you should have it.”

Alice’s generous legacy was slow registering and Awen had to reassure the fact by silently declaring he now owned his own house. It had been some time since the reading of the will, yet he had not visited his inheritance. Some invisible barrier was preventing him, as if by doing so would be prying into the private affairs of the old lady but curiosity of what would be found in the old trunk was foremost as he sat quietly reading one of Sam’s Zane Gray novels after Sunday’s lunch.

“Have you been over to the house?” Margaret asked while running a finger over the surface of a side table. A slight measure of dust came up with the run, sending her to retrieve the dusting cloth and polish. ‘It’s those council trucks,’ she silently blamed for the excess dust, ‘ever since they reopened the quarry over at Nelson Street.’ She would speak to her husband as he had influence in the council and have their progress directed along King Street instead. With a wipe of her cloth she returned her attention to her son and his answer.

“Not yet.” Awen marked his page and stretched widely. “Same story different cowboy.” He commented loudly and discarded the book.

“What is?”

“Those Zane Gray novels of Sam’s, they are all the same.”

Margaret ignored her son’s evaluation of Sam’s choice of literature, “I’ve cleared out most of Alices’ clothes to the opportunity shop and boxed the Staffordshire and a few other ornaments. What do you think we should do with them?” Margaret stood back from the side table, unsatisfied she gave it a second wipe. Again she blamed the quarry trucks, this time aloud.

“Alice said you could have them.” Awen wittily suggested waiting for his mother’s negative response. It soon came.

“I don’t want the dust collectors.” Margaret huffed, imagining them cluttering her polished surfaces, besides what use were they? Poor man’s trinkets she called them and most ugly, of ancient celebrities with badly painted faces and garish coloured attire.

“Actually I think she may have promised them to Mrs. Kemp, I suppose I could take them over next weekend.” As he spoke a car horn sounded.

“That will be Jack on his veggie run, be a dear and get me some potatoes and half a cabbage and some beans and half a dozen of those apples Ely likes, my purse is on the table.”

“I don’t much like cabbage.” Awen complained.

“It’s not for you.”

“Do you need anything else?” Awen asked as he rummaged through Margaret’s purse for change.

“No I don’t think so, I’ll be down the street tomorrow but would you let Jack know I’ll call in to see Ivy sometime during the week.

“Ok.”

Jack Murland was the town’s mobile green grocer who grew most of his produce on a small acreage on the outskirts of town, while living in town close by. Jack was of unknown age and to a degree of unknown race. He was predominant Malay-Chinese but it was believed that somewhere in his background ran the blood of an English or Scottish aristocrat, who grew rubber in Malaya and had planted more than rubber trees within the indigenous population.

Jack was locally born, his grandparents arriving during the Palmer River gold rush, moving south when the gold ran out. He had been married and sired nine children, all girls then after the tenth child, a boy that died at birth, his wife decided it was time for a change and literally knick Jack out of the house. Even so he continued to pay what he could for his large estranged family.

Some time after the incident and needing company of the female persuasion he met Ivy, a station cook down from the cattle country for the Christmas break. They became close and after a proper time to lament his separation they moved into a small house two streets from the Pen residence and after a number of months and a failed in-shop business, Jack once again resumed his delivery run.

Awen returned with the order and as Margaret put away her polishing cloth Elyan entered into the room. Nodding to his mother he offered a playful sneer to his brother and feigned a right hook to the nose while obviously building towards begging a favour.

“What was that for?” Awen asked.

“For no reason, have you been over to smelly old Alice’s yet?”

“No why?”

“I believe she has some old motor in one of the sheds, I’ll have it if you don’t want it.”

“What sorta motor?” Awen asked somewhat surprised Elyan knew about what was to be found in Alice’s sheds.

“How would I know, I haven’t seen it but Jim Stocker at the top garage said he believed she had a car of sorts; his old man told him.”

“It’s probably a T-model Ford knowing Alice’s age.” Awen suggested.

Margaret interjected. “Alice did buy a car, thought she would become a fancy lady about town,” pausing Margaret commenced to laugh, “she bought it back in the late forties just after the war but found she wasn’t good at driving and spent more time motoring along the footpaths than the road. I don’t remember what it was but I think it was red.” Margaret once again paused “yes it was most definitely red.”

“What’s the condition?” Elyan asked becoming most interested.

“I wouldn’t know the shed has been locked for years, ever since Alice had that fall. For all I know she may have sold it or given it away.” Margaret answered.

Elyan became excited. “How about we go over and have a look-see eh brother?”

“It’s getting late and I am about to put dinner on, can’t you leave it until the weekend?” Margaret proposed.

“No time like the present mum, what do you think kid?”

“I suppose we could but I don’t have the keys.” Awen agreed as Margaret retrieved a set of keys from the side table’s drawer. She passed them to Awen. “I think the long rusting key is for the shed but don’t be too long, we’re having roast pork.”

“I hope crackling and plenty of apple sauce?” Elyan suggested, his eyes opening wide in anticipation.

“Yes your favourite Ely, I’m only telling you so you won’t stay long over at Alices,”

Eagerly Elyan lead the way alongside Alice’s house with Awen following close behind. “What do you reckon brother?” Elyan asked as they approached the weathered timbers of the shed door. “You don’t have a licence so I can have the car?” He continued without waiting for an answer.

“I could get a licence.”

“You promised, besides you’ve got the house, so what do you want with some old car.” There was a tinge of resentment in Elyan’s tone as Awen placed the key into the ancient rusting lock and gave it a turn – nothing, the lock held fast.

“I didn’t promise anything.”

Awen fully intended to let his brother have the vehicle but wished to play him for as long as possible as it was rare for him to hold sway over him.

“Give me a go!” Elyan demanded while pushing his brother aside and taking control of the key. With some force the lock sprung open but the hinges had also rusted solid and the wood of the door warped.

By the time the two managed to open the door the last of the daylight had gone. Elyan felling along the inside wall found the light switch but the bulb had blown.

“It’s a bit dark in there.” Awen disclosed the obvious as they peered into the gloom towards a large canvas covering.

“No shit Sherlock.” Elyan growled while attempting to adjust his eyes to the encroaching darkness.

“How about leaving off until after work tomorrow, maybe dad will let us go a little earlier.” Awen suggested.

“Suppose so what do you reckon it will be, maybe a Bentleigh, maybe a Rolls Royce?” Excitement was growing within Elyan as he once again forced shut the shed door.

“As I said going by Alice’s age it’s probably something from before the first war.” Awen answered with a laugh. “I can see you and Stella driving around town in some old jalopy.”

“Na mum said she got it in the forties, so it probably won’t be any older than twenty years.”

As the brothers departed, with Awen’s mentioning of Stella, he remembered a second encounter he had with Barry Fields some time previously, also his continuing threat against Elyan. “Are you still seeing Stella Parkes?” He asked.

“What’s it to you?”

“Not a lot but I ran into Fields a while back and he threatened to have you.”

“I’ve seen him around town and he didn’t say anything.” Elyan answered.

“McDonald said he is sweet on Stella.”

“She’s not on him and told him so.”

“Still you know Barry he won’t take no for an answer, you better watch your back.” Awen warned.

“I can handle Barry.” Elyan assured and pumped his chest with as much air as it could possibly hold.

“I suppose you can but he doesn’t work like that, he’ll get you when you least expect it, or worse.”

“Don’t worry kiddo.”

The following day, Reg did allow the brothers to leave work an hour earlier but true to his character said he would dock them the time. There couldn’t be favouritism because of kinship and as the boys left Reg’s office he called through to Lucy Parker, his secretary, to be sure to adjust their next pay envelope accordingly. As they passed Lucy’s desk she winked and in a whisper responded; “don’t worry, I’ve forgotten to do so already.”

Excitement built as Elyan once again forced the old wooden door, developing into banal chatter as they stood before the dusty canvas cover. Their presence disturbed a large huntsman spider to scurry across the surface of the canvas, finding safety beneath a fold in the material. For once Elyan displayed a less masculine nature and released a shudder.

“I don’t like spiders.” He admitted freely. With a long stick he nervously forced the araneae to dart from hiding and fall to the floor, finding new shelter in a dark corner behind a number of paint tins and a rusting push lawnmower. Awen mockingly laughed.

“So the big hero is afraid of spiders; this I will have to tell Stella.”

“You do and I’ll punch your flaming lights out.” Elyan snapped.

With the spider out of sight, their attention returned to the obvious shape beneath the canvas cover. “It looks a bit small.” Elyan declared somewhat disappointedly.

“Maybe it’s not a car and as mum said Alice sold it.” Awen amused as another thought came to mind, “maybe it’s an old buggy.”

“Na look at the shape it has to be a car alright, come on let’s get the cover off.” Yet they hesitated while their presence sent devils of dust into the air to gently fall like snow flakes through the shafts of light from the grimy windows.

Eventually without speaking each took a corner of the cover and with little effort allowed it to slide away to fall at the feet. More dust and both succumb to fits of coughing, which quickly dissipated on seeing what stood before them.

“Shit!” Elyan gasped as the late forties cherry red MG came into view. “It’s a beauty!” He added; his eyes on the elegant vertical slats of the radiator grill, the name badge and the head lamps that stood out from the body of the vehicle like eyes on a garden snail. “It’s a 1949 MG TC-midget.” He knowledgeably declared as his vision followed the running board to the rich red leather seat to finally rest on its canvas top, gently folded away to the rear. “Oh brother I have to have it.”

“I think I should give it to Sam.”

“Sam doesn’t have a licence.”

“He could get one, besides I’ve been thinking of learning to drive, this could be my chance.”

“Come on Awen you promised.”

“I don’t remember making any promise.”Awen shook his head and frowned, attempting to appear as serious as he possibly could but knew he couldn’t hold his jest for long. “I don’t know maybe -,”

“Come on Awen.” Elyan lowered his dignity and pleaded.

“What’s it worth to you?” Awen asked teasingly.

“Shit man you could fuck my arse if it.” Elyan deliberated without intention.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Awen laughed.

“No seriously Awen, I must have it.” Elyan ran a hand along the bonnet, becoming lost in its lines, while imagining the miles disappearing beneath its wheels, envisaging the girls who would flock to be driven. “I’m in love,” he softly moaned.

“Would you swap it for Stella Parks?”

“Too fucking right I would.”

“I could sell it to you.” Awen offered.

“It must be worth three hundred quid, where would I get that sorta dough?” Elyan became desperate.

“What about the money Aunt Alice left you; that could be a down payment?”

“It’s gone, Stella is expensive to keep.”

“Tell you what.”

“What?”

“It’s yours.”

If you are following this story, let Gary know what you think of it:Gary Conder

23,759 views