Every night we watched the national news until the presenter ended the bulletin by saying: “And now the news where you are.” Then it cut to the correspondent in the spare bedroom, who leant in close to the camera and whispered the latest family updates.
In the middle of the night I heard a tapping at the window and when I got up to see what was making the noise I found a reporter balanced on the sill. I opened the window and he stuck a microphone through the gap, asked me what I thought.
What I thought about last week’s exposé on the cat’s double life. What I thought about the propeller we found buried in the back garden. What I thought about being chased home from school by my sister and a small army she had borrowed.