Today I passed Roland Llewellyn who was, as usual, washing his car.
"How's the writing going, Liz?"
"I read one of John's books the other day."
"Do you mean David's? My husband's name is David."
"Must be thinking of someone else. Do you get your ideas from outer space?"
"From outer space." He was impatient with my stupidity. "That's where all our ideas come from. Everything's gone winging out there, and it comes back in the form of ideas."