When I was a little girl I explained to my ma how some girl in my class had been a bit clever concerning the tooth fairy. As I clambered into bed I regailed said girl's plan to find out more about the speculative fairy that came looking for milk teeth in the middle of the night. I told her how the girl had left a message demanding the fairy's name, and how when she awoke the next morning, 'Tinkerbell' had been scrawled across the scrap of paper. I left the paper and my gently smiling ma for the land of slumber. The next morning, there it was in fat blue felt-tip. 'Tinkerbell'.
That was my only fairytale to speak of until Saturday night. While sipping a post-cinematic glass of red in Angel outside no particular restaurant, over no particular conversation, a figure emerged from around the corner. A figure and a ginger smudge. The ginger smudge is called Bob. He is a cat that lives curled around James' neck. The two took up together six years ago when James rescued Bob from a cunning fox. They have been synonymous ever since.
As they went on their way, heading literally for the sunset, I thought, "yeah".