Doctor in the house

There is very little in the way of conversation at home. Uncle Jack sometimes appears in the hall to ask someone where he is, what he is doing here, or what time of the year it is. The rest of us communicate so rarely we are rapidly losing the power of speech. Occasionally someone might attempt a comment at mealtimes, then forget the word for something, a crucial noun usually, and we all sit there waiting for it, as if we’re taking part in a séance. If my mother or my sister is present, exchanges take the form of a parlour game in which players take it in turns to compose simple sentences containing the word ‘nice’.

But twice a year or so my mother’s friend John, a retired doctor, comes to stay for a week. Dr Lovepants we used to call him. John’s second most salient feature is his tremendous eloquence.