1. We’re just contemplating lunch when John gets a text: not a question but a demand for us to join friends at an awesome just-reopened kebab* place. We dash out to join them then slowly return home via visiting John’s mum – for a cup of tea in the sunny garden – and a stroll in the park.
2. The words tumble out of our mouths in quick succession as we talk about arithmetic, prams, time travel and our silly mental image of P’s disco dancing dad.
3. The evening sun projects the pattern of the wrought iron fence onto the porch. For a short time, the flat unpainted render is decorated with neat parallel lines and elaborate swirls.
* Not a manky donner-meat “dirty kebab” in a limp pitta with even limper lettuce, but succulent, expertly marinaded good meat (or fish), cooked on skewers over hot coals and served in a freshly made naan and/or pilau rice. Very different from a late-night, post-club kebab, I assure you!