It was a chill misty evening, and we were leaning out of the attic window overlooking St John sub Castro, calling to the tooth fairy, to let her know the precise location of the teeth. And yet another one of our pre-conceived ideas about How We Would Be As Parents was exploded. We had vowed we would not overtly lie about the existence of Father Christmas, the tooth fairy or whatever. We thought we could be oblique and get away with allowing the possibility of these things without actually lying. We were fools. Trying not to directly lie to children gets harder as children get older, more articulate and more persistent. You end up becoming weaselly, flailing hopelessly under sharp questioning. ‘Is the tooth fairy real, mummy?’ ‘Well, who else do you think brings you money?’ ‘But is she real? Where does she live? Do you believe in her?’ But maybe it was a mistake to even think of trying to explain everything rationally. I am clear about some things like: Darwin, yes; Intelligent Design, no. One of the reasons I love Lewes is the very essence of something primitive and pagan, even magical, that seeps through it. The Grange Gardens railings that allow a glimpse inside of an other-worldly place, with echoes of Tom’s Midnight Garden perhaps. The dark twittens, like secret passages, tilting their way downwards to somewhere unexpected. Have a close look as you walk around the streets today at those interesting local characters in their quirky hats. Why shouldn’t the tooth fairy pay a visit? She may even live here already.