You’re eating salmon. You never liked salmon before, you know. You’re doing well, too. You’ll be up on your feet in no time. Anyway, as I was saying, you’ve always been the outdoors type. When you were younger we almost never saw you in the house. You were always getting yourself into scrapes. You used to climb up the old apple tree we had at the bottom of the garden. I’m amazed it ever held your weight, you know. And you’d perch at the very top and then look down and realise you couldn’t find your way back. And you’d be shouting at the top of your voice for someone to come out with the stepladders. We’d laugh about it afterwards, but you used to get yourself into a right lather if we hadn’t heard you for a few minutes. I can’t remember how many times I had to mop the tears off your cheeks because you’d gotten stuck again. But you’d always be back out there, trying to tackle that tree and beat it.

I suppose it’s no surprise that you grew up into a petrol head. I just wish you’d gotten into something a bit more robust than that awful bike. You’d only just polished it that day, you know. You were so proud of it. You looked after it so well, but it didn’t return the favour did it?

There, you’ve finished your salmon all up. That’s so very good. I think you’re going to get along just fine here.