Simon and Sarah.

It was Sunday afternoon on a cold and dismal day in January. Simon, Sarah and their little boy, Stanley, were settled in front of the TV watching the 1942 film version of Rudyard Kipling’s Jungle Book, each fortified with a mug of steaming cocoa expertly made in the old fashioned way by a mother who knew about such things.

‘What’s the little boy’s name?’ asked the even littler Stanley.

‘Mowgli,’ replied his father, who was competitive by nature and had to be the first to answer any generally directed question.

‘That’s a funny name,’ said Stanley.

‘His real name was Taboo,’ continued the irrepressible Simon. ‘That’s even funnier.’

‘It would be if it were right,’ interjected Sarah.

Simon stole a glance at his wife and aimed an irritated frown in her direction.

‘Taboo means forbidden, by convention or edict,’ she continued. ‘He was actually called Sabu. S.A.B.U. Sabu.’

Simon said nothing, while little Stanley directed a questioning look at his mother. Sarah returned it with a motherly smile utterly devoid of triumph.

*  *  *

Simon and Sarah might become a series. Then again, they might not.