And because I found a pound note on the park, I pick a horse called Merry-Go-Round, which at ten to one to win means you get eleven back. And when he’s back from the bookies we watch World of Sport, my uncle yelling his horse on, invisible whip flashing the arm of Nannan’s chair, me shouting GO MERRY-GO-ROUND! GO! And my uncle now on all fours, bum pushing against the invisible saddle, his face now a neck from the screen. GO ON, RED HAND! GO ON! But Merry-Go-Round pushes out in front, beats Red Hand by the length of our backyard, me jumping up and down on the settee, my uncle drooping his face to the rug like his horse needs a drink or something, and now we have to wrestle, which my uncle always wins at, me with my knees pressed back to my chest, him riding me across the carpet like Red Hand, me feeling the hard change in his pocket.