She finally turned, her plate in her hand, and took a proper look at my father, singlet baggy on his chest and taut across his belly, comb-over starting to lift away at the temple.

She shook her head and sighed. ‘Well, get on with your story.’ She was smiling now. ‘Don’t leave Simon hanging.’

‘Righto.’ He grinned. ‘Rupert got us passes from a baron. We went for drinks in the Strangers’ Bar, where I reckon they go pretty hard. There’s a sign just above the skirting board showing you the way out.’

‘Why don’t you go and play?’ my mother said to Michael, who had finished his toast.

He pushed his chair noisily back from the table, almost tipping it, clenched his fist and said, ‘Yes.’ He was usually required to stay for more conversation.

‘And maybe round up those stray bits of Lego while you’re at it?’ my father said, but Michael was already gone.

Michael had a playroom at the back of the house, away from the tedium of older people. It had a tepee made out of blankets, a wooden train set, and a failed attempt to grow cress from seed along one window ledge. My mother had bought a book of indoor activities for British children, and that had been one of them, growing mustard and cress on damp cotton wool. The seeds were still there, little lifeless specks.

‘Lord Ponsonby Ponsonby Something-or-Other chucked that on my back.’ My father pointed to the drink stain on his jacket. ‘He tripped on some bloke on the floor who must have been down there looking for his monocle, or something. What a nuthouse. I went into the chamber, the Lords Chamber, since that’s what we had the passes for. And there’s the House of Commons just, you know, down the hall and in uproar over the sanctions for companies breaking the five per cent pay-rise limit. The government loses two votes on it – there’s today’s front page decided, easy as that – and Callaghan’s lined up a confidence motion for today, which he might not win. His government might actually go down. Today. And, meanwhile, what’s going on in the House of Lords? Every baron who ever was is jumping up to have his say about shooting deer. The Deer Bill. Seriously. That’s what was getting them hot under the collar last night in the Lords. Couldn’t be more British if it tried. One of them was even the Earl of Mansfield and Mansfield. I thought I must have heard it wrong but, no. Earl of two different Mansfields. Thought I might let him know we had one in Brisbane too, in case he wanted to bag a third. He’s the eighth earl of one Mansfield and the seventh of the other. Bloody Poms.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’ It was Fawlty Towers after all, just as I’d put that idea away.

‘I know.’ He laughed and his singlet jiggled and pulled up above his belt. ‘And these are the people who gave us our system of government. This is your actual Westminster.’