Pam's father died in his Badminton shorts. Seated in the hall of St Edmunds, Northwood Hills, recording the results of his last game he was seen to have slumped over the table. By the time Pam and I arrived at Northwick Park Hospital he was dead. Pam said he would find it undignified to die in his sports clothes. I am not sure she is right in thinking that would distress him. That was the day, on my way home from work, I drove past a pile up of three cars in Pinner Road. Number two had rammed number one and the third car had run into number two. The driver of one car, I noted casually, looked like Pam but she was in the passenger seat. Not until later did I discover it was Pam. That evening I had also noticed her father walking briskly along Hatch End Broadway towards the bus stop, looking, for him, a little dishevelled.