On the kitchen wall in our decrepit flat in Creswick Terrace we had a cartoon clipping sellotaped to the wall, the final frame to a long-running adventure in The Phantom.
In this frame, Mr Walker, the ghost who walks, The Phantom, is home at last having despatched countless murderous villains and escaped impossible jeopardy at every turn, cheating death or worse, week after week, month after month.
He greets his family with a broad grin, slaps his hands together and declares: That’s that. Now, what’s for dinner?
