I was nine or 10 years old and my father was sacked on Christmas Day. He was a manager the results had not been good he lost a game on December 22 or 23. On Christmas Day the telephone rang and he was sacked in the middle of our lunch.
It is a horrible fact that we can read in the daily paper without interrupting our breakfast numerical reckonings of death and destruction that ought to break our hearts or scare us out of our wits.
