"Yes," I say, " Bone weary".
It goes deep- and comes of looking after my mother for a year and three quarters.
My mother sits at the breakfast table with the paper in front of her. These days she rarely gets beyond the front page. It's customary for her to fixate on one particular headline and keep asking questions about it. This morning she's picked on a banner at the top of the page- offering a free copy of the Railway Children in return for something or other.
"This is a book for children? She asks.
"It's E. Nesbit," I say. "It's a very famous childen's book." She looks blank. I forbear to tell her that she was the one who introduced me to E. Nesbit fifty something years ago.