Sometimes I am unlucky and turn on the telly and there he is, stepping into a half built house, pretending he has just happened by with a camera crew. There`s Mary, swinging out of the rafters, sawing, lifting, hammering away while John swans around, pointing at things and sipping coffee.
Duncan has no desire to speak to Mary. Duncan wants to speak to the man of the house.
One of these days Mary will answer " Sorry, Duncan, John is dead. I killed him with this nail gun here".
I have an image in my head of Duncan in a Tutu, dancing round a huge pile of burning nappies. I may draw it later.
