Iestyn Edwards is...what?

  He walked to the other end of the bench like a cowboy just off a horse. He looked like a hollowed out Richard Harris, wearing tailored jeans, a horizontally striped cotton t-shirt and a Miss Marple gardening hat. ‘May I sit here?’ ‘ Of course.’ He sat, nodding. Then, after a while, ‘What a quaint little town this is.’ ‘ Really? With all the Tudor and the Halls?’ ‘ Oh, granted. But I’ve just come back from living thirty years in Australia.’ Ah, that was the tang in the otherwise smooth, cultivated. ‘Sydney. Divorced my wife after all that time. Left her the house. A million dollars’ worth. The house, not her. Though I used to think she was. Women can do that to men. It’s because they have to ensnare – not all, of course, but quite a number in my experience – as they have fewer basic freedoms than us. Going to the pub alone, for instance.’ He had brightly cold blue eyes, that held no reflection of what he was saying. ‘I’m back here living in the flat I bought for my moth...

  Tammy, in her seventies, was waiting in the square while the caretaker fixed her hot water. She agreed to let me take notes. ‘ Well, as I say, I began as a Lucy Clayton girl.’ My friend Al went to Lucy Clayton. She told me, 'I learned deportment. That slight swivel walk. Getting in and out of cars. What blank expression to wear while a man lights your cigarette. How to eat your first mussel with a fork, and all subsequent mussels with the shell of that first one. Riveting and fully essential.' Tammy continued, ‘You probably can’t believe I went in for modelling. My face is like this because I get such bad depression.’ When she talked, her lower jaw made a juddery nutcracker movement. ‘I did shop modelling at Fortnum's. Fenwick's. Oh - now, then - also later on at the Co-Op. Their slogan being: Shop at the Co-Op and be H appy . I had to provide the clothes for that one. That didn’t make me happy. The canteen at Fortnum's was a cut above. We all loved it, our f...