Meanwhile, another female sitting on Rosie’s back called me John – again.
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘my name isn’t John. It’s Jeff.’
‘So why do I call you John?’
‘I don’t know.’
It was beginning to sound like that classic scene from Only Fools and Horses:
‘Are you sure your name isn’t John?’
‘So why does everybody call you John?’
‘They don’t. Only you call me John.’
It didn’t happen. Instead, she told me that old water butts like the one I have at the bottom of my garden fetch a lot of money these days, so I need to take care that nobody steals it.
There’s no making them out, you know. There isn’t.