If Enid Blyton ever needed an alternative to The Famous Five, she would be hard-pushed to go past me, Fionnuala, McGowan and Genghis – The Foolish Four.

Our wild conspiracy theory, unencumbered by any evidence, had launched into an orbit of assumptions and presumptions before landing accusatorily on a bed of nothing.

Mrs Davison’s David was not a bad son, he was just a good son with a fear of flying.

Mystery solved, and as I looked at the sheepish faces of my fellow jurists of the kangaroo court, I understood this was a ‘say nothing’ situation.

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We played cards, drank tea and were entertained by David reminiscing about his magical childhood.

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What can I tell you about David? Chatty, with a wee bit of a lisp, and evidently very proud of his daughter Charlotte – she played netball for........

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