I waken up from my Sunday afternoon doze, bleary-eyed and with a belly full of roast duck and all the trimmings. The rhythm of family conversations and the smell of the turf burning in the hearth could well send me back into slumber in the depths of my old tattered armchair; but I look across the room and see a rock chick sitting on the sofa, a tidied-up scatter of purple hair, black lipstick and green eyes.
I smile to myself remembering how unlikely a character I am to have a rock chick for a daughter-in-law, but I
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