The Maids of Hellebore

They stand around under the ash tree which stalwartly refuses to die-back, heads bedecked with similar white caps. They seem to be looking down at us dining on the terrace. They chatter away, gossiping no doubt, and as we’re the only ones around... it stands to reason it must be about us. One or two of them have their pretty heads bowed. Maybe they’re not comfortable with the bitchiness.

“Look down there girls, look at them. They’ve eaten al fresco and now they each have their heads buried in an iPad. Why can’t they appreciate such a lovely evening?”