The sun begins to set and a bell signals an end to the first summer's evening in the park. A truck carrying black bin bags is circuiting the grass. Outside is written the slogan, 'Improving Lambeth's Parks'; inside is a man with a brass bell in one hand and a mobile phone in the other. He stops intermittently and rings the bell out of his window. I interrupt his phone call to ask my question.
'A mi'ul?' he asks. He has a thin face and a small mouth. His teeth are uneven and rabbit-like. He wears a florescent gilet. 'Yeh, I've got a mi'ul', he says. He concentrates for a moment then says something I don't understand. I have to ask him to spell it for me.
'Thank you very much', I say. 'Have a good day', he says going back to his phone call and his bell-ringing round.
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