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Patsy’s electro-exercising machine into a device for removing barnacles and limpets and other shellfish from the bottom of yachts. In the same way that the exercising machine caused human muscles to contract, the ‘Limpet-Zapper’ put the bivalves’ whole bodies into spasm, so that they literally jumped off the hull. 
    But two moderately successful inventions hadn’t generated anything like enough income to keep Patsy in pantyhose or Jason in Adidas, and they were still living like the Pilgrim Fathers, except it was meat loaf instead of succotash and Jell-O instead of pumpkin pie and how are we going to survive until the end of the month, don’t even think about the winter. 
    He watched the cloud shadows sailing across the sands. They reminded him of giant stingrays, gliding swiftly and silently across the floor of the ocean. He saw three children flying a red box kite, and a woman in a pink swimsuit and a huge pink hat, walking a brown-and-white spaniel. If only you could capture this scene, exactly as it was, and hang it on your wall, complete with wind and movement and sound, and the net curtains stirring at the window. He smiled to himself and realized that he had just invented television. 
    There was no knock at the door; but he heard it swing open a little more. He turned around and there was Joe Garboden, same as ever, in a mauve-and-green-and-cerise-and-yellow-striped blazer that looked as if it had been rejected by the Mambo Kings for being too showy. Joe was large-headed, with thick black greasy hair, and cheeks with the texture of cauliflower. His eyes were deep set and glittery, but kindly, and he smiled a whole lot – more than the average, anyway – which was what made him one of most acceptable bearers of bad news that Michael had ever known. 
    ‘Hallo, Joe,’ he said, keeping his hands buried in the pockets of his hiking shorts. 
    Joe came and stood next to him, one hand extended. He waited; and waited; and in the end he said, ‘What’s the matter, Michael, playing with your dinkle more important than greeting an old colleague?’ 
    Michael reluctantly took out his hand and shook it. Joe smiled, and then stared at the palm of his hand and said, ‘I hope you weren’t playing with your dinkle.’ 
    ‘I’m not going blind, am I?’ Michael retorted. 
    ‘That’s only because you’re not doing it right.’ 
    Joe dropped his greasy Panama hat on to the desk, right on top of Michael’s legal pad, and then he stepped right up to the window and admired the view. ‘Beautiful day, isn’t it? This house is heaven in summer. What’s it like in midwinter? Hell, I’ll bet. How do you heat it?’ 
    ‘Blankets.’ 
    ‘Blankets?’ 
    ‘That’s right. From Thanksgiving evening to Memorial Day morning we stay in bed.’ 
    ‘Hey, good deal. Especially with Patsy, if you don’t mind my saying so. She still looks like everything a man ever dreamed about.’ 
    ‘Oh ... you saw her?’ 
    ‘Sure, we talked. She’s out in the yard, washing the car. Or ... what shall I say? ... washing the bits that hold the rust together.’ 
    ‘What brings you all the way down here?’ Michael asked him. ‘You didn’t come to show me that coat, I hope.’ 
    Joe said, ‘Mind if I park my ass?’ and eased himself down on the leather couch. He picked up Michael’s magazine and frowned at the cover. ‘ Mushing ?’ he asked, in disbelief. 
    Michael said, ‘Mushing ... you know, training huskies to pull sledges, skijoring, that kind of thing. Mush! Mush!’ 
    ‘People do a lot of that around here?’ asked Joe, straightfaced. 
    ‘Forget it, Joe – it’s just an idea I’ve been working on.’ 
    ‘All right,’ said Joe. He took out a crumpled handkerchief and wiped his forehead. ‘I guess I’d better tell you why I’ve come.’ 
    ‘You mentioned Rocky Woods. My kid thought that was your name.’ 
    ‘I’m sorry. That’s not a name to make jokes about it, is it?’ 
    Michael didn’t