July was unprecedented in its harmony. The party-people next door were away; the ones with the free-range kids who tromp through our flowerbeds were in Algonquin (darling tykes no doubt pissing off campers by peeking through tent gaps and being “precocious”). The wife was away at her mother’s, it was quiet for once; I didn’t have to negotiate what I ate, or watch the crap she likes on TV – fruity dance competitions and talent contests. All the politicians were on holiday, all those terrorist bastards were in their hidey-holes or dead. Frankly, I was bored and looking forward to September.
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