It wasn’t that the walls were the exact shade of pink reminiscent of Penelope’s Rolls Royce. It wasn’t that the acoustics of the place were quite so unnerving due to the incredibly high ceiling and invasive axle on which the sails spun. It could have been the ill-tempered dromaius perched on his arm, heavy, hot and belligerent, but even though his nose was sore he could have coped. It wasn’t even the obnoxious schoolchildren gathered around him making a godawful racket.

It was that he knew, just knew, that any moment now someone would visit and he would be left in the unenviable position of having to suffer another odious itinerant interloper attempting to gain entry to his home.

Cringing, as the chime echoed around the cavernous interior, he was already on his way to answer the summons when the gaggle of brats all chanted together: “There’s somebody at the door!”