Oh-em-gee . . . Susan Boyle in concert last night at the Apollo. Voice of an angel. Such an inspiration. *fills up.* “Gawd . . . Aunty Pam’s been to see Subo.” “Thank you, Ben,” Barbara said. “I can read. And FYI, my Facebook newsfeed is private. Would you mind not peering over my shoulder? And how come you’re up so early on a Saturday morning?” “My day at the food bank.” Her son ambled over to the fridge. “Of course, you know why women your age are into Subo,” he said, taking out a carton of milk. “Because she gives them hope. I mean there they are, sad and middle-aged, their lives practically over, and she’s telling them not to give up. So why haven’t you and Aunty Jean been to one of her gigs? You’re totally her demographic.” He began pouring milk over a bowl of Honey Shreddies. She knew he was taking the piss, but it didn’t stop her picking up a tea towel lying on the back of a chair and throwing it at him.
