I am ashamed to admit it but I instinctively hid behind the sofa when Francois Devine broke his news (but fortunately not his waters). I hadn’t hidden behind a sofa out of fear since the Mire Beast burst through the wall during Story R and traumatised the young Dennis. To this day I cannot eat squid or look at a photograph of Jack Pitt without flinching.

"Do something, Dennis Brent" pleaded Francois Devine.

"There is nothing I can do" I said firmly. "Surely the engorged wadding will simply slide down your legs and collect at your feet. Your shoes will be write offs and I’ll need a new floor but nothing more serious will result."

"These trousers are a little too snug for that to happen" he told me. "I have bonny thighs. My mother always told me I have bonny wee thighs."

"She was Scottish?"

"Not in the slightest but my thighs made her momentarily Celtic. I hadn't thought how odd it was until now. She was an otherwise perfectly acceptable woman."

"Are you saying there is only one course of events likely to unfold, that being the bursting of your trousers and the subsequent showering of all and sundry with urine soaked high density wadding?"

"I believe so."

"I knew I shouldn’t have put my mechanical arm back in its cupboard."

I went to get my mechanical arm and desperately tried to think of something – anything – which would be able to contain or even prevent Francois Devine’s trousers from erupting. I thought about a large plastic wall which would take the impact and which would be stain resistant to the degree that I could take it back to the shop afterwards and claim it had never been used. But there weren’t any plastic wall shops open at that time of the morning (certainly not in Bendaton) and I hadn’t anything comparable in my archive. Then I considered building a wall out of bricks and cement (or whatever it is immigrants who accept cash payment so they can avoid paying tax use to make walls for people). That was worth considering until my lack of bricks, cement and technical knowledge put paid to that thought. We were well past the point where a funnel would be of any use, a dust bin-stroke-bucket would require me to hold it and I wasn’t prepared to go to such lengths, rubber sheeting over the entire room would be ideal to contain the mess but would be a nightmare to dispose of and a specially trained robot would require time to design, build and program. Literally the only two options which remained were to spray super-cooled gas as Francois Devine’s expanding bulge until the entire area was frozen solid, at which point the offending material could be sawn off and disposed of in the canal, and Plan B. I didn’t have a long enough hose to carry super-cooled gas from my cryogenic units up to the drawing room so Plan B it was.

"What is that?" asked Francois Devine as I wheeled my secret weapon into the drawing room on a trolley.

"It is a genuine naval barrel from Story CC. It is made of stout wood, it is water tight, it is heavy enough to cope with your eruption and large enough to contain the contents of even your bladder plus almost my entire supply of high density wadding. I need only place it in front of you and uncork your trousers."

I wheeled the barrel into place before Francois Devine. I deliberately rolled over his foot a couple of times to relieve my frustrations at the trouble he’d put me to. I should, by rights, be enjoying a pleasant night’s sleep but instead I have to nursemaid a blubbery simpleton who decided to impose upon my abode like the Malus.

"Ow" he said quietly for I think he realised he was entirely in the wrong this evening.

I took the top off the barrel and exited the drawing room, taking my mechanical arm with me and making a mental note of trajectories, angles of approach and the amounts of compensation I would need to factor in to take account of his bulge.

I was getting rather good with my mechanical arm and was considering how I would undoubtedly be able to cope with losing a real arm in a freak accident when Francois Devine let me know that I’d finally got a firm grip on his zip. I pulled it down slowly and heard the first tell-tale trickle of non-absorbed liquid as it hit the ancient wooden bottom of the barrel. The trickle preceded a gush and the gush preceded a plop. The plop preceded a deluge and the deluge preceded a silence.

"Ahhhh" sighed a contented Francis Devine. "I feel cleansed."

"Is it over?" I asked from behind closed eyes.

"Yes – the barrel is rather full I’m afraid but I’m pleased to say a second barrel was not needed. Oh, wait, I was forgetting that you only own one authentic barrel from Story CC don’t you? Yes I own three of them in my collection."

Normality was restored – Francois Devine was no longer pretending to be nice to me because he no longer needed my help with something unpleasant. I was all in favour of this. While it is nice to have Francois Devine in my debt, it is also nice not to have to improvise a lavatory and help him micturate.

With the aid of a gas mask, a blindfold and some gloves made out of the same material one would normally use to make Wellington boots I removed the barrel of unmentionable fluid from the drawing room and it became once more a place where gentlemen could relax.

"That was an unfortunate business" I said by way of conversation.

"Yes" said Francois Devine awkwardly.

"I expect it gave you an insight into what it will be like when you are old."

"Yes" he said again.

"Incapable of reaching the facilities on your own."

"Yes."

"Perhaps you should investigate the benefits of wearing adult nappies now to acclimatise yourself."

"Yes."

"I saved your life you know."

"Yes."

"Has the expulsion loosened your position at all?"

He writhed around in the wall but to no avail.

"No."

"You’re very quiet" I observed wittily.

"Yes. Dennis Brent?"

"All present and correct."

"Dennis Brent. Do you think I could prevail upon you a second time?"

"I’ve run out of high density wadding and have – as you so cruelly and unnecessarily observed – only one genuine barrel."

"No, it’s not that."

"Then what is it?"

"Number twos."