A fatal ERROR

News about a neighbour wasn't quite what it seemed

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Our neighbour Geraldine, who moved to a house four doors down from us about a year ago, is a good sort but inclined to be bossy. She is one of those women whose voice carries over heavy traffic. She is a churchwarden. She goes out on Saturday mornings with a black bag to pick up litter. On Tuesdays, she stands by the side of the road in a hi-vis vest and pretends that she has a speed camera.

I'm ashamed to say that, when she threatened to come and work in the charity shop, I said she would be a great asset, but what a terrible shame our waiting list was so long.

Anyway, the other day she was passing as I was leaving the house and she beckoned to me. 'Have you heard?' she said in her indoor voice, which still registers about a five on the Richter scale.

'Have I heard what?'

'About Martin. He's gone.'

'Gone where?'

'Gone. Passed over.'

'Oh, I see. Goodness.'

'He was a good age, of course.'

'He was 75, wasn't he? That's nothing these days. I know plenty of 75-year-olds.'

'Of course, he'd been poorly lately.'

'Had he?'