TPR had developed a process to bring the dead back to life. So now I found myself in a bar in Hexham chatting to both my grandmothers and my great-great auntie S, plus other assorted relations (officially still alive).

Unfortunately what TPR had not yet mastered was how to keep his subjects in the land of the living long-term once revived. When he noticed that Granny H was starting to fail, he rushed over to fold her up, pop her into a shopping trolley, and get her back to the cemetery in Newcastle. Here he could deposit her back in the locker where she really belonged until the next family gathering.

TPR had done well to keep his resurrectionist process secret for so long, but I knew that eventually someone would question how an ancient aunt born in the 1800s could be enjoying a drink with family members in 2012. What worried me on this occasion was that my school friend HP and her son had also been in the same bar as us when Granny H keeled over. They surely must have spotted something.