Monday morning is bin day in our street. As I walked home from the creche along a pavement piled high with black bags, something started to serenade me from inside a bag. My daughter's got a similar musical phone. You can't really turn it off. Once pressure is applied it churns mindless ditties out with no end. I wonder if the bin bag is still singing? Where is it? Somewhere on a dump?
A few nights ago, I awoke to a different kind of tune. To the sound of screams. I lay in bed with a feeling of panic in my gut because it sounded so real. When I heard 'Ow, Papa! Help, Mama!' I got out of bed and looked out of the window. But I couldn't tell where it was coming from. What could I do? Call the police and say, sorry for bothering you so late, but someone, somewhere in my street is being beaten up by her father. The screaming stopped and I went back to bed. But I didn't sleep.