I met the young red-haired doctor around the time of TPR’s final illness. It was convenient (to me) that he had lost his wife to cancer a year earlier.

Amongst our courtship activities we marked (appalling) Masters dissertations, walked through the lounge of a care home where the residents were watching a ballet on television at full volume, witnessed a bull tumble off a cliff into the sea and drown, and mistook donkeys on the hillside for deer.