Or Just Short for Dodecahedron

I was unloading four brass lanterns from the back of our car on Saturday when a dreadlocked hippie walked past, yelled out hello and came up the driveway for a chat.

Turns out he'd helped TB with the renovations on our joint. He'd just been up the street to get a rare tomato from an oldie who lives a few doors down from us and was going home to see if he could grow his own vine.

He told me all about a similar lantern he'd once had, that had come from his great-grandfather's yacht, which had sailed up and down the Swan River.

We shook hands at the end of our conversation. He told me his name was Decker. I don't know whether it was spelled Decker as in his occupation, or a proclivity for throwing punches, or whether he was a big fan of the Mitfords and it was Decca.

I told him my name was hazelblackberry. No, seriously, I did.

It was, Grumpy and I agreed, all so very, very Freo.