A gentleman - but vain. He thinks every woman out shopping wants to brush against him, take him home and never let him go. I don’t think it’s ever crossed his mind no-one would want him; that he isn’t desirable so his worries are eating him away without need. Maybe, in the dark of the night, when the moon is hid behind clouds, he shivers under his blankets (he’s bound to have blankets) and wonders if there are any in the world who might not be keen to pounce. Sometimes, I wonder whether it would ease his mind if I were to tell him there aren’t any women who’d want to touch him with a barge pole unless he fell in the canal. I’m not sure many men would either. But how could I tell him something so terrible? It’s one thing to choose not to respond. It’s quite another to know there’s nothing to respond to. It might make him lonelier than he already is. (Loneliness is a guess - but I’m sure it’s a good one!)

If only a happy couple lived next door. Any old happy couple would do; mixed, men, women . . . aliens! I’d invite them round to drink coffee (either together or one at a time) and if they were looking for books about the Congo, we’d make it an event and hunt along the shelves as a team. We wouldn’t find any but it would be companionable and better than being shouted at over the fence by Mr Mann.