A friend of mine offered me his words to see what story might come out.
Terry was good with words and knew how to put over ideas in attention-grabbing ways. He was often asked to write speeches as a ghostwriter for important people. His young nephew, Luke, hadn't quite understood Terry's occupation and, whilst having his dinner of tripe and onions one day, asked his Dad why his uncle was a ghoul. But as usual he wasn't looking for an answer but stuck to his usual habit which was to quaff his remaining milk and rush off to play outside where it was sunny. He was having great fun stomping in the muddy patch of the garden. Eventually he wore himself out and came in. His Dad stripped his mucky clothes off him and carried him up to the bath.
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