Our neighbour Mr. Fango had fallen in love with a woman who came to his house selling dishcloths.
Mr Fango was an anal man in many ways, cleaning being one. The dishcloths were out of this world and Mr Fango, normally a reserved and level-headed chap, found his heart beating like never before and his bits tingling a tune he hadn’t heard in a heck of a lot of years.
My mum noticed it first and mentioned that Mr Fango was all starry-eyed and floating in recent days.
We noticed the change, and we saw the flash the car outside his house on the following nights. Mum and dad wondered what this new woman in his life called him as we had only known him as Mr Fango. Dad said his name was Frank, but mum insisted it was Fergus.
Either way, he was Mr Fango to me.