There are three things I must tell you about Martin. First, he’s a tall, gangly youth, lean and fidgety, with a shock of black hair, earnest brown eyes and cute button nose. Second, he’s a perfect brat, mucky minded and insolent with it, and third, I had the misfortune to be his aunt.
He usually stayed with me for a week or two during the summer holidays, to give his mother a break. She had younger children to cope with, and Martin’s slovenly ways and cheek were a constant source of anguish to her.