‘She helped me with the donkey rides; it was too much for me, at my age, plus it was cheaper than I expected, one good lie down per hour. They should sel the black dogs with the white string, how I love their dribble and hop. It’s booking in advance – that’s the key.’ I remember her as a girl, so lacy, with a spade for a tongue, and eyes swiveling around the sky fretting about long-dead pilots. She leans in close, takes my right elbow, says, ‘You won’t let them will you? Will you?’ Her central heating is Fred Astaire rapping down the brilliant staircase, cane in hand. tap tap tap.

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