Des brushed leaves from his new red corduroy trousers. He said, Evelyn a hundred yet, lad? Three years off. But she reckons she’s bowing out at ninety-nine. We’ll do a big party then. Doesn’t want a telegram from the queen. Quite adamant about it actually, so she’s cutting it short. Not a royalist, then? I think she thinks a bottle of champagne is more in keeping. Or a knighthood. Such a clear-eyed appraisal of life, said Des. What a woman!
