Don

My friend Don is 83. He's been coming for tea every Sunday for years. It's the only day of the week that he eats cake, and he looks forward to it.

He arrives at 3 o'clock. The cats know that his arrival means treats, so they hang about the kitchen while he's putting his slippers on, looking expectant.

We have tea and cake, or several cakes, and watch some telly. Don likes Midsomer Murders. He has a disconcerting habit of laughing out loud every time someone is killed.