A few days ago Chris and I were talking to our friend, Martin, who lives two doors up from us, and who has recently painted his steps a bright azure blue and his gate a banana yellow. I like it. Chris isn’t quite so sure.

“What do you think?” Martin asked proudly as we were about to pass by with our bikes.

“I like it,” I said.

“It’s rather bright, but much better than before,” Chris answered as carefully as he could without being dishonest.

Now Martin is a clever man, a university lecturer and writer, also he has a wonderful sense of humour.

“You remind me of me when I was a little boy, Chris,” Martin smiled. “Apparently, as the story goes – I can’t remember personally – my parents were taking me to a restaurant and I was stood in front of them as we waited to be seated. Oh, and I used to have a very sharp, loud voice as a small child, and I was a bit precocious… Well, ahead of us was a lady with  extremely short hair and a mannish look. I came right out with it and asked her, ‘Would you please tell me, are you a lady or a man?’ My parents walked backwards out of the restaurant leaving me standing there…”

“I was worse than that,” I began. “When I was two years old – and I can remember – I was walking down the road with my mother when we came across a neighbour who had recently had a baby boy. We looked in the pram, and I can remember his head now, he looked like an alien…”

“Lots of babies look like aliens,” interjected Martin.

“But not like this one,” I said, “he was bald and so thin that you could see  all his veins under his skin – he must have been ill, now I come to think about it. Anyway, I whispered to Mum, ‘Isn’t he a funny-looking baby, Mummy?’ My mother ignored me and I thought she didn’t hear so I pulled on her skirt and asked again, quite softly still, ‘Isn’t he a funny-looking baby,Mummy?’ Mum didn’t answer but tried to push me behind her. Totally frustrated, I shouted at her, ‘Isn’t it a funny baby?” Oops! All eyes were upon me and realised I may have said something wrong. I hid for cover under Mum’s gathered skirt. I used to spend quite a lot of time under my mother’s skirts.”

We laughed, as you do, and Chris’s comment was forgotten. I’ve thought of Martin’s story more than once and that’s why I’m passing it on to you. And please remember that I was only a tot of two…