A week after Plotting for Grown-ups was published, my nine-year-old grandson asked me if I was writing another book.
“No,” I said, “I’m having a break from writing for a bit. I’m doing other things like playing my saxophone. I’ve joined a band.”
On Bonfire Night he asked what I was writing in the dark with my sparkler.
Someone said: “Plotting for Pensioners.” It might have been me.
“What’s a pensioner?” my grandson asked.
“It’s someone who gets a pension,” I said.
“What’s a pension?”
“It’s a bit of money the government gives you to live on when you’re old and haven’t got a job. I get a pension.”
"But you're in a band."
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