My father died fucking my mother. I heard her calling, or bleating really. And I came into the room and for a horrible moment I thought I'd got it wrong and that her calls for help were in fact small bleats of pleasure. She's got a narrow range of expression, my mother.
Why are you telling me this?
I had to roll him off. And I rolled him a bit too vigorously and he fell off my mother, off the bed and onto the floor and broke his arm. I mean he was dead, of course, so he didn't mind. But it made...