My parents’ first house was a nice, central semi-detatched Edwardian house on a hill which my father paid for in cash. I find this even more impressive now that I have a mortgage of my own. About a year after they moved in, I was born.
I have asked them which bedroom was mine and they can’t remember. I have also asked my mother what she did with me when she went back to work. “It was the summer holidays”. “I was born in March.” “Oh, so you were, I think a friend of your nana’s who lived on the Grand Parade came in to mind you.” Feckless pair.
