He rang up this morning. Steve answered the telephone. Some piano music that was waiting to be collected. As we were passing his house, he was outside cutting his hedge. We couldn’t avoid calling in, and Steve played a piece of music for him, one his wife used to play. He brushed past me gently and said on which days of the coming week he would be free. We had to leave him because we wanted our breakfast; it was mid-morning “I trust you’ve had yours,” I said to him. “Well, I’ve had some,” he replied, being evasive and craving for sympathy. We said bye-bye and I promised to see him “some time”. I don’t know when that’ll be.