I did as the rather severe portrait of my Uncle Gaylord suggested and stopped believing him. I slapped myself firmly but fairly about the face.

"Can I help?" asked Francois Devine. It’s absolutely typical – when there is work to do he is nowhere to be found but when it comes to slapping Dennis Brent about the face he is cluttering the place up before you can say ‘would you like a go, old man?’.

He walloped me without so much as a by your leave and I was left seeing stars. Rather more stars than ‘Smasher’ managed to rope in for that musical video he produced in 1985. We still laugh about him frantically trying to drum up interest in a couple of actresses who hadn’t been on television since the 1970s. I don’t think he ever got over Timmy Mallett telling him to "**** off" and to "stick to "****ing up the pop charts, ****head". Still, Francois Devine’s blow brought me to my senses and I was grateful.

"How was your hedonism?" I asked.

"Extremely gratifying. You should try it."

"I may."

"Do so."

"Can I ask a small favour?"

"You may."

"Would you mind becoming wedged in my wall again? Hoodlums keep coming through the hole and stealing things. It is only a matter of time before we get a thief who can look past worthless but shiny objects and start stealing things of considerable historic and/or monetary value."

"Gasp" said Francois Devine. "I must away at once to secure my collection."

"No no" I began wittily. "I said things of considerable historic and/or monetary value. Your collection will be perfectly safe." I beamed but he lacks a sense of humour.

"If that is your attitude I shall away to secure my archive and then retire to my boudoir to rest before my next hedonistic interlude. Good day."

"I meant no dis…" I began but he had waddled off in a fit of pique. Rare to see the words "fit" and "Francois Devine" in the same sentence <g>. Although the words "Francois Devine" weren’t technically in the sentence. You have to be sharp to keep up with Dennis at times.

I had no other alternative but to take a seat and sit on guard duty. Sitting in a chair waiting to be robbed is far less exciting than one imagine if one was brought up on a diet of American police dramas and synthetic fruit drinks which glow in the dark. I passed the time by slowly and subtly opening Francois Devine’s parcel. After his recent unjustified outburst I felt no guilt in having forgotten to give it to him when he visited the drawing room.

Sometimes I do wonder about Francois Devine. The package didn’t contain fascinating items of miscellaneous value. Instead I found two battery powered eggs. I can only assume he was planning some vibrating hilarity at the breakfast table. I seldom eat eggs for breakfast however and, short of dropping them in my bowl of Bran Flecks, I can’t see how he hoped to jape me at table. But since there is literally no other explanation for the existence and purchase of battery operated eggs I can only assume he was indeed planning some poor quality humour. I made a little note that if he did attempt to surprise me with them I would remark that they were a classic example of battery eggs. We would roar at that remark. Considerably more than we would raw at Francois Devine’s contribution.

I had given up on my arm chair and had started putting books back on shelves (these were the ones jettisoned when Francois Devine was freed – I shouldn’t like you to go away thinking I’d left the books disturbed when Francois Devine arrived on the floor for so long. The only reason they hadn’t already been tidied was that I’d been saving up as a treat for later). I was interrupted from my work by the door bell.

"Who is it?" I shouted at the top of my voice.

"It’s the blackmail man" replied my visitor, obviously in possession of keener hearing than the postman.

"You’re a trifle early" I called back.