It was around 3am at this point and admittedly I was slightly drunk. I knew in the back of my mind I would have to walk past number 48, and I also “knew” that what I’d experienced was easily explained as some sort of perceptual fuck up. I was getting close to the house, from the distance I noticed that the lights in the window were on; the soft glow lit the pavement as if to beckon towards me. I stumbled towards the house without even thinking, as my steps drew nearer I began to hear people in conversation, the sharp clinks of plates and one voice in particular that I recognized.

I slowly peered into the window, although this time I could see the room with perfect clarity, it was my late Grandfather, stood around the table, with an assortment of different people, some wearing military formal wear – others wearing clothing from decades long gone. Some drinking cups of tea, some smoking. All of them chatting to each other cheerfully. I was caught in the glow, frozen, staring for what seemed like ages.