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As his wife prunes the roses, Mr Dear tackles a thorny subject

- Rosie x

You join us in the garden, and Mr Dear is up to his arms in petunias. What he’s doing, though, is anybody’s guess. He’s supposed to be weeding, but at the moment he is resting on his hands and looking serious. Well, as serious as anybody can look while squatting in a flower bed.

‘You don’t really think I’ve got a thing about Jane, do you? Not really,’ he says.

He has stopped looking serious, and is now looking aggrieved and disappointed. The last time he deployed this expression for any length of time was when he thought he’d won the football pools in 1984, only to discover that Nottingham Forest hadn’t managed a draw (please note, this might not be an entirely accurate recollection – I didn’t understand football pools then, and I certainly don’t now).

‘What do you expect me to think?’ I said. ‘You’re always popping next door to see her. You’re always telling me how interesting she is, which I suggest would come as a surprise to anybody else who has actually met her. Where did you put the secateurs?’

As I pruned a rose that was trying to peer through the kitchen window, Mr D removed himself from the petunias and stood up.