The minute I got there I realized that I didn't need the loo at all, and so the person in the stall next to me was going to think I was either quite mad, an unsubtle drug fiend or some kind of Rebecca Loos-type pervy textaholic.

She knew of no Peter, and yet he was here and there in John and Michael's minds, while Wendy's began to be scrawled all over with him. The name stood out in bolder letters than any of the other words, and as Mrs Darling gazed she felt that it had an oddly cocky appearance.

But it is like the jolly world about us will scoff at the paradox of these practices.

This coat cost me 50 nicker.