Richard Osman

Last time she was down she told me off for having the slats of my venetian blinds angled upwards instead of downwards. That was the straw that broke the camel’s hump for me. I said to her, I’d wanted to say it for ages, that I felt I could never get anything quite right, and she said well she felt the same, and I said that’s nonsense, and asked her what she meant, and she said, well Mum, I’m always too fat or too thin, or with the wrong man, or just split up with the right man, or I should wear my hair up or down or I work too hard or I have too many holidays, or I shouldn’t have painted my kitchen that colour. That actually struck a nerve, I can be a bit like that, but I decided to dig in, so I stood my ground and said Joanna, that’s because I care, that’s because I love you, and she said so you show me you love me by telling me I’m too fat? And I said well I know you’re happier when you’re not overweight

Elizabeth, for her part, applauded Joyce’s generosity of spirit, while noting that Mervyn, in certain lights, had the type of handsome looks that so often left Joyce helpless. The gruff Welshness of his voice, the darkness of his eyebrows, the moustache and that silver hair. Elizabeth more and more is getting the hang of Joyce’s type, and ‘anyone plausibly handsome’ seems to cover it. ‘He looks like a soap-opera villain,’ was Ron’s take, and Elizabeth was happy to accept his word on the matter.

‘They’ve taken her passport,’ says Mervyn.

‘Goodness,’ says Elizabeth. ‘That sounds unfortunate. Who has?’

‘The authorities,’ says Mervyn.

‘Sounds about right,’ says Ron, shaking his head. ‘Bloody authorities.’