‘He said it’d been a slow day. Well it was the funeral you see. Started at ten. He arrived bang on time, walkin’ into the church with his stick at ten to ten. You see his mate, in the coffin, was 88 when he died. He was 92. He’d come from Barkin’ to Cockfosters where we had the funeral. He said he’d got up early. Well it wasn’t til later, after the party un all, when I told him we’d get him a cab to take him home and I was stuffing thirty quid in his top pocket. The cabbie turned up, I opened the front door, and it took him fifteen minutes, a quarter of an hour!, to get to the car. My wife said after, she said, if it took him 15 minutes to get down our footpath, what time d’you think he got up this morning. Ninety-two! she said. Ninety-two! Incredible when you think about it. Ninety-two! She was right of course. Ninety-two and all that walking. He said it’d been a long day he said. He said he was tired. Too right he was tired. Anyway, where d’you want me to put this thing?’