It was a sunny, warm, blue-skies time at Hataitai Beach last weekend. Many of my beach friends had turned up and half-a-dozen of us were sitting on the deck silently contemplating the newly-painted wall of the changing shed. The graffiti had been nicely covered up with what appeared to be a blacker paint than before.
Another of our number dripped out from the sea. She looked at us looking at the wall. "Watching paint dry?" she asked interestedly.
Our dripping friend is an actress and stage director. She's pretty well up with one-liners.
When J and I are lazily swimming, having what we call our 'committee meetings', our subjects can be deeply serious, or very light-hearted.
On this day, we got to talking about national dances. J originally came from England and she was moaning over the fact that, at school, the class were forced to dance around the may pole, holding dangling ribbons, with boys going one way, and girls the other. I commiserated with her. At my school we'd only been in to skipping rope.
Our minds wandered across to Irish dancing. J tried to demonstrate the-arms-at-the-side-while-you-dance thing that is a big part of Irish dancing, but this proved difficult whilst treading water.
"Morris dancing is bad enough," she said. Oh, the subject was back to England. I agreed with J that Morris dancing wasn't overly-macho.
"All that hankie waving and bells-on-toes ..." She ruminated, "I wonder who Morris was ....?"
And we were off again. Suggestions rampant