Sunday 27th AugustThe Sunday papers are full of the Labour Party coming out for Soft Brexit. No hope now that Brexit isn’t going to cause friction during the barbecue. “Come on, let’s go down and see what’s happening,” I say.
“Ah, Humphrey old chap,” Richard says, fiddling about with spare ribs and sausages, when he sees us coming.
Don’t mind me, I think, who am I to be taken notice of?
“Nice sunny day for our yearly jaunt, what?” Humps says.
Soon others come down, including jolly-hockey-sticks Barbara – Richard’s wife. She sees Sarah and shouts with glee, “Oh, Sarah, darling, aren’t we simply lucky, such a sunny day.” They kiss each other on both cheeks, like continentals. Barbara looks over at me and says hello.
By then, Ruth and Ian, from the first floor, have appeared, too. Barbar
