He peered at me with his small, permanently bemused eyes. Several inches of brown, knee-high socks peeped out between brown leather shoes, and brown, sadly misfitting trousers. I reminded myself of the time he wore his tie over his jumper.

He said to my slumped figure, Get some R. and R.

I looked at him blankly. R and R?

Christ, where have you been living? Have you never watched M*A*S*H?

I mumbled apologies.

Rest and Relaxation. It’s what the soldiers used to be given leave for after battle.

So he thinks this is a battle. I asked him just to make sure. Are you saying this is a battle?

Oh most definitely, he enthused sadly. This was the first time I had had the chance to experience such unusual modification in action. I am writing letters of complaint about it to the Government as we speak. Letter of complaint writing is a particular hobby of his. Even humming radiators at 3AM require ink action with the tip of the tongue pointing lizard-like from the corner of his mouth in an exaggerated show of concentration. This after he has alerted the police angrily of ‘malicious household appliance activity’. And after they tell him an earthquake, sir. The activity of your radiators are, I am afraid, completely out of our control.

True to his word, his age-old fountain pen lay before him, a dribble of blue ink collecting under its nib. He licked a few brown envelopes for good measure, before realising with a look so precious I would quite like to keep it in a shoebox and release at opportune moments for the comedy factor, that envelopes these days no longer tend to need licking.