David Robbins: Tripping up on the pot holes down memory lane
My uncle is a great man for rules. Never lend books; never play out of turn on the golf course; never leave the washing-up until the morning after.
He has lived a well-regulated life. He walked to his civil service job every day, and walked home again for lunch, then repeated the process in the afternoon.
He had such a sense of order, of things proceeding along established and fair lines, that any transgression went deep.