My parents had been busy upgrading the White House. In the garden beneath the arched window they had laid a marble pétanque board, there were exercise hoops installed next to the summer house, and a red outdoors telephone where one would expect to find the back door.

Unfortunately they had forgotten to add any proper entrances to the house. Instead we were expected to get in and out by climbing through a window. “I’m not up to this!” I cried, citing my advanced age.

Meanwhile my sister S gazed up at me from where she lay motionless in the pond.