We had the old Cat Stevens argument last night, my mother told me with a weary sigh this morning. His older album was lying there on the table. Looking up at us sort of accusingly was a young child with crossed legs. Meditating.

He warbled Morning Has Broken at me in the most vile, mocking way he possibly could, until Len told him "it's okay, look, she's switched him off now."

Cat Stevens and incense sticks are two things strictly only allowed when my father is out of the house, for fear of major breakdown vis a vis the parental unit. I swear I heard the words "Islamic hand-hacking off music" muttered under the breath. I am taking a moment to pray for the return of sanity.