At 3 o'clock Emma's mother turned the Queen on and nobody was allowed to speak. Emma's father slept through the second half of it with his mouth open and the crutches sliding down the fire surround a centimetre at a time.
My mother rang at 20 past 4. She was at Sheila's. Sheila had done a turkey crown, and my mother had views on it, which she kept to herself at 1 end of the phone and shared at the other.
Mrs Kaur had come round with a cake and a second copy of the photograph from Old Trafford, framed, for Sheila. Sheila is in the back of it with her mouth open, and Mrs Kaur thinks it is lovely of her. I could hear Sheila in the background saying it was not.
Then my mother asked who it was on Wednesday. I said Cardiff, and she already knew who managed Cardiff.
"Your Steve sacked him at Christmas," my mother said. "I hope he has forgotten."
