(No, frineds, I've neither eaten nor drunk lead paint - just tried to "paint" such pictures of our "green and pleasant land" (Blake).)

Walking toward work and the rising sun, a morning chorus
    Rides the crisp breezy air of hill-farmland,
While gravel, of road and path, beneath my plonked feet crunches,
    And P.V.C. flaps loose of its hay-stand...