NWR Issue 113

Theory and Design in the Age of Innocence

We walked to a tree. The sun through its leaves and branches was warm on my skin. We looked at one of the things hanging on it.

‘Right,’ he said, ‘find a name for that.’

‘The pehehehargorribololum.’

Daddy sighed. ‘Isn’t that a bit of a mouthful?’

I laughed. ‘A bit of a mouthful’ was a good joke, because the thing hanging there was tasty. I’d tried one and it was sweet and juicy with a small end you could bite to get started.

He said, ‘You don’t want to say all that each time you refer to it.’ ‘Why not? Who would I refer to it to?’

He smiled – at least I think he did, because I could only look with my eyes half shut.

‘To me of course. Or to yourself, to help you think about it.’ ‘Well how about just the pehehehar?’


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