I was glancing at a catalogue of winterwear when George called. Loathing shops, this is my only means of acquiring clothes and I was considering tweed an autumnal rather than winter choice when George invited me round to watch the rugby. We have never spoken of rugby, or any regulated sport whatever, and so, aside from not knowing what he meant, I could only take his invitation as further evidence of his descent into popular culture, by which I mean, in fact, the media. I demurred, gently, but then hastily enquired after the Etty. Did you buy the Etty? My god, for eight thousand? It was George's turn to demure, and he declined to confirm, but we arranged to meet for lunch at his house anyway. And so it was that George's ruse over the rugby, his minor deception, had lifted my spirits and, it was while considering if his mental health were improving that I, easing on the brakes, stopped at a pelican crossing only to sit and watch as Thom and his mother crossed the road. And so it was that I, uplifted by falsehood, stumbled out of the car and threw my arms round them both. I had no idea what I was saying, but only seconds to say it, so I did. Look, I really have to speak to you. What about monday? Make it Tuesday, she said. And so I drove to George, my friend, ready to inspect his new purchase and felt in the evasions, the mild, yet knowing deflections of other people, a tremendous grace, now and forever.