On the seafront, with Basil Brush, my father fought against the dying of the light

Telling Tales by Janice Turner.

I found Basil Brush the other day. Press his hand and he lets out his manic laugh, followed, of course, by: “Boom! Boom!” He looks like a plastic toy given free with a McMeal, but actually he cost a lot.

When my sons were six and eight, I took them to Scarborough with my parents, who’d gone there on day trips when courting and later stayed in cheap B&Bs. Now I, local-girl-made-good – principally to treat them, but in part showing off – booked seafront rooms at the Royal Hotel.