A true story from the neighbourhood

Last night I was lounging in a friend’s garden a few doors down with a whole bunch of good neighbours, good wine and good food. All the kids had taken themselves off and we were left to chat and laugh. I was sat next to my friend’s mother, an erudite and charming woman who was born in 1919.

At one point she said to me ‘I can’t join in all these conversations’. I gazed at the throng, chit-chatting aimlessly away and said ‘Mmm, you’re not missing much’.

‘No’, she said, ‘but they are’.