As I walked through the garden I noticed a mother and two children had set up camp there.  While the mother hung her laundry – on my washing line – the small boy grabbed both of my wrists and we began to struggle. He started speaking nonsense to me.  “Gosh, he’s strong” I muttered weakly to the mother who merely gave me a watery smile. 

It was then that the boy became sub-titled and I could at last understand him.  “You’ve got Cain in you like my father”, he said “and it comes out in your pee.”

“Better out than in”, I said, rather feebly.