Nana had loved Mike for years. There was something of the earth about the man. He owned land but the funny thing was we never saw him work it. As kids we’d wade through the rod-necked goose throng at his unpainted gate avoiding the snap of their impertinent beaks. Our visit usually ended with Mike leaning on the black velvety hips of his big milker, Mavis, expanding on some book or TV programme that got him thinking the night before....
