If ever there was a case not to judge on appearances, my new sister-in-law fitted the bill. Completely bald, and with a preference for going naked in public, at 12 months old she was a baby with a difference. She was toilet-trained from birth, and at an age where her contemporaries struggled with naming everyday objects around them, she carried in her head one of the most extensive vocabularies of anyone I knew. She was fully aware that she was different, and hated being treated like a child. If you tried to pick her up for a cuddle, she would wriggle and squeal like a piglet. As fame for her wisdom grew, every word that my sister-in-law uttered was taken with the utmost seriousness.

On this occasion we had stopped at a shopping mall off the A68 in West Woodburn for a bite to eat. When my sister-in-law mentioned “men with guns” word soon got out – damn you Twitter! Within minutes armed police came racing to the rescue in rural north Northumberland. It was a complete false alarm. “Men with Guns” was the name of the shopping mall’s house band. Panic over, we settled down to enjoy their repertoire of witty songs. They reminded us of Edinburgh Fringe favourites Dead Cat Bounce and Corky and the Juice Pigs.