The scene: Pitt Street Mall, Sunday morning, restless shoppers swarm between the buildings, scaffolding looms overhead, a man in a tuxedo plays the electric violin, an ever-increasing crowd hums along as ‘Memories’ (think Barbra Streisand) weaves through the air.
Mr4 takes my hand. He twirls under it, Ginger Rogers style. He turns back to face me, holds out his other hand. I take it. He begins to twirl.
“Dance with me Mummy,” he says.
I laugh. Round and round we go, with a couple of pirouettes and an occasional heel-toe polka thrown in. The crowd makes room for us.