EXTRACT: How long's it going to go on? says nanna, shouting over the noise of pop eating his spaghetti. Your mum's exhausted when she gets here of an evening, this place hasn't been dusted for weeks. Maybe pop could do it, I said. Not with his asthma, says nanna. No, he could use a duster, I said. You always were a cheeky little tart, she says. Then she stands up, trips over the rug, falls down and breaks her hip. Stupid old cow.