Cousin Steve, Roger and I have known each other for over 60 years. Roger and I were at infants’ school together, with the suitably named Miss Nags. Cousin Steve was at a village school nearby. We moved on to junior school. Roger taught me how to shoplift and I put this into practise by stealing a toy car from a local newsagent. I felt guilty and expected the police to arrive, so the next day I sneaked into the shop and put the car back.

For our final year, a new school was built and cousin Steve, Roger and I were in the same class. We took our 11 Plus and all three of us passed. We moved on to secondary school: Form 1A, then 2A. A year later, Roger moved to Harrogate, his father had a new job. Saw him once and then I thought that’s it… But was it?

So, Roger’s gone to Harrogate. Cousin Steve and I are teenagers, who have hiking holidays in Saltburn and Whitby, and try to get served beer in pubs. He succeeds; I don’t. “How old are you?” ”Eighteen.” “Get out of it”...

Then it’s time to take A levels. Steve goes to Durham University to study marine biology, whilst I train to become a teacher. Don’t know where Roger is. Until many years later, in the 1990s, when my partner Sylvia returns from a course and says: “I met somebody who knew you. His name’s Roger, and he’s sent his mobile number.”

I don’t really like ‘going back’ in life, but eventually I ring him and we arrange to meet for lunch in Don’t Tell Titus at Saltaire. I arrive and the bar is very quiet. Suddenly my mobile rings and it’s Roger, who’s actually sitting two tables away from me. We haven’t recognised each other! Well, it’s been a long time. It turns out we’ve both been teaching in Leeds for approximately 30 years, but have never encountered each other. Roger asks about cousin Steve, and we agree that we’ll meet again and ask Steve along as well. But will we?

Cousin Steve joins us for a meal. We laugh a lot and the two of them chat happily about their shared love of fishing. I just enjoy the food. While we are eating, cousin Steve starts to slide under the table. Steve is suffering from Parkinson’s. His wife has just left him. He’s also unable to work. He can’t even cope with looking after a pet dog anymore. He’s not allowed to drive, since he somehow steered sidewards into a car park. He now relies upon his son Chris and a group of fellow ‘wobblers’, as they call themselves, for mutual support.

Roger, meanwhile, has just come into a considerable amount of money, but he has a really good use for it, because Roger has prostate cancer. He visits a consultant in Harley Street and the treatment is successful. He just needs to have regular check-ups.

We carry on meeting, sharing stories and puerile jokes - and that’s where we’re at really… Except three weeks ago, Roger’s cancer returned. He had to have radiotherapy on his chest before he starts further treatment on his - as he calls them - ‘my once interesting little places’.

And that’s where we’re at: Cousin Steve with his wobblers, and Roger with his ‘interesting little places’. We’re all meeting for lunch again next month and, of course, hope that this continues. But will it?