I took the Eurostar this afternoon to London for a rare meeting of the brotherhood. Although London-born and raised, we three brothers now live on the Isle of Skye and in Brussels and Prague respectively and we all lead busy lives, making it difficult to find mutually convenient dates and places to meet up. With our parents no longer alive to act as catalysts, such meetings have become infrequent, but they are all the more joyous and entertaining for that. This evening we started in a Bloomsbury pub (excellent ale) followed, as tradition dictates, by a curry and a long and enjoyable note-swapping session about family, friends, music and literature. We were also a little conscious, I think, of the family ghosts swirling around us: our father (Holborn), our mother (Islington), several grandparents (Bloomsbury). Tomorrow we’ll go back home – only it’s no longer our home.