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Once upon a time, Dad would begin, I think, focusing on the road, there was a man called Watt Watt was an alchemist An alchemist is a? Dad wanted me to have the definition by heart Someone who, through belief, hard work and persistence, turns the ordinary into the extraordinary I knew the rhythm of it I don’t think I quite knew what belief, hard work or persistence were; extraordinary I probably had some sense of Allegory was still a long way off   Watt was a good man, there was no doubt about that But he didn’t always seem it Often he would be so absorbed in his work that he could go days, even weeks, without seeing his family His mother was sick and bedridden His wife was stooped and bent from scrubbing the floor, washing the clothes, milking the cows And his son, his only son, clothed in rags, missed him terribly But Watt knew, Dad would say, that when his son grew up, he would come to understand how important his work was, the true wealth it had brought them, and would forgive him   It happened without warning One night, after a long day’s work, when Watt was tidying up his laboratory, he went to pick up a certain block of lead which he’d been experimenting on, when a terrific pain shot up his arm His body was thrown across the dark room in a spray of sparks, as though an anvil had been struck   When he came to, he found himself lying flat on his back on the cold stone floor The block of lead, which sat on the big oak table, glowed a strange orange colour and the air around it flowed like water Watt, brave man, stood up and reached again for the lead and again the pain shot through his arm and again a splash and flurry of sparks and his body again shuddered with the force   When he came to once again he once again stood up and one again touched the block of metal Once again the same sharp pain, the same shaking, as