‘Don’t worry, I can do it. There’s a way we can do it all at once to save going over the same thing every time.’

My lad, George.

He knows all about this kind of thing. A long time ago, I gave him advice. And now, the tables have turned.

‘How about us getting you a computer?’ he says. ‘It’ll make your life easier.’

‘Easier, how?’

‘It’ll be easier to stay in touch with us, and the kids.’

His grown-up children are kids in the same way my grown-up son is my lad.

‘It’ll open your eyes,’ he says. ‘There’s a whole world out there waiting to be explored. You can find anything on the Internet.’

I grunt. ‘Your mother said it was a filthy place.’

George laughs. ‘That’s because she was a Daily Mail reader. You only find what you look for, so don’t worry about that. Have a look at my laptop.’

He takes it out of his bag, sets it up on the table and switches it on. Suddenly, up pops a photograph of us all last Christmas, sitting around his table, six laughing adults, twenty-four glasses, red wine on the tablecloth, party hats askew, cracker trinkets scattered, the crumbling ruins of a Christmas pudding on a plate. Takes me by surprise. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘It’s my screensaver,’ he says, tapping the keys. ‘Right, Dad, what in the world would you like to know more about?’

It’s a tall order.

‘The Himalayas,’ I say.

‘The Himalayas generally, or do you want a holiday there?’

‘I don’t mind. What have they got?’

‘Both … either,’ he shrugs. ‘Here you are, here’s a holiday company – look, you just click on it. See?’

‘As quick as that,’ I say.

‘Or look, here, here you’ve got all the facts about the Himalayas or the Himalaya. See?’

I’m impressed. ‘What else has it got?’

George laughs. ‘You name it, it’s on the Internet. If you want to take up a new hobby, this is the place to look.’

Golf is my hobby, but I haven’t played since Stan went. Stan was a better player than me. We saw the game differently – for him it was about beating me, and for me it was about getting out of the house for a few hours and having a drink on the nineteenth. Partly, it was that for Stan, too, getting out of the house for a bit, having a break from being a husband for a few hours.

Stan’s view was that games should be played to win. He could remember a club competition hole by hole, telling me about every shot. He was a fanatic. Never forgot a drive.

‘I might go back to the golf club,’ I say.