Jol does Gatsby

In our younger and more vulnerable years our father gave us some advice we've been turning over in our minds ever since. Jol always reacted against that advice more strongly than I, but seeing him return from work in his suit, dark shirt and Hugo Boss tie, I wondered whether time had eroded his radical edges. The attire was a disguise - a good one. His political sensibilities burn undimmed beneath the outer veneer.

I duck out of the conference at lunchtime, pick up a hire car, and visit my mother near Marlborough. We chat and drink tea. I am encouraged to investigate a few niggles on her computer. And then Jol returns.

We heat stew, and cook vegetables. A pleasant family meal concludes with cheese and fruit. And it's time to return to Bristol. The journey takes an hour, but seems longer. I go directly to my room in the hotel, avoiding the temptation of the bar, and sink into troubled slumber.