Building Number 64

Haven't done one of these sub-blog list elements recently, but on passing this curved wonderment this afternoon in Sheffield, it called out to be added.

                

The interior must surely contain: ancient electric kettle, selection of mugs, digestif biscuits - possibly, 'rich tea' as well; found wellies, pinned-up leaflets advertising jumble sales, local bake-offs/ballroom dancing, dog shows, manure, open gardens, bowls club, trips to garden centres of note, society members ads: free cultivated blackberry cuttings - see Reg, free to good home: tabby kittens; unwanted gift of hedge cutters - see Mrs Plab, etc.
Or, maybe not. Perhaps it's all Prosecco, canapés, adverts for speed-dating clubs and leaflets concerning lost Chihuahuas.
That certain green perfect paint and tended pots suggests the former . . .   

If sun-loungers could talk

Left: "Bollock's innit. Y' sit out there - rain, sun, blizzards 'n shit, puttin' up viv all shapes and sizes then soon as y' get a bit manky, that's it. Bastards. Could 'ave repaired me back leg - bit 'a gaffer tape, a hose-down, job's a good'n."

Middle: "Oh, I don't know . . . one can get a little tired of the pool-crowd - continually being splashed with Prosecco and Ambre Solaire, and, quite honestly, I could have done with occasionally being left to get a tad manky. Bleach does such appalling things to one's epidermis."

Right: "Uh? Sorry. Miles away. I was just remembering the afternoon when the swingers came. Should have seen the water - surf's up! and the mess afterwards . . . Course, I experienced it first-hand you might say. Any of you ever had a threesome occurring on your slats?

Far right "Oh, shut up."