There was a hole in the seawall into which a child leg coulda break an' fall.
A friend tell a seawall-mender about it. She say all he did was to give she a load o' spit.
Not one thing they ain't do.
This morning, strolling that way on the wall, I notice that the hole is gone.
I figure, after the sea throw one big hissy fit, flying up 7, 8, 9 metres high, a seawall mender stroll by and decide to mend it in June. I know it is June because people sign them name and date in the cement when it was wet.
A big and hearty congratulations I say, trying not to be sarcastic.