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STROLLING THROUGH twilit Civic tonight we saw where a pair of sneakers, attached by their laces, had been deftly pitched upward to dangle across the powerlines. The unknown hurler had inscribed on their soles the words, "Gay Police", and as folk passed us, they too glanced up, noted the unreachable shoes, and flickered collusive smiles at the rascality of the stunt.
So it was natural that, over our Indian meal, the four of us should discuss humour, where sprightly Sue B recalled a sprig of my father's repartee from the one occasion they had met in 1985. She had approached him for a chat but was a little awed. ("Brigadier, and all that.")
I could have ...