What about boys, middle-aged and old people? And that thing! The Hackney Trident, our 1920s cut-out with its Jules Verne look and a habit of humming – a zzzzzzssssing so I didn’t go down to it much. When the devout Catholic died, his hitherto quiet side-kick son turned up flaming drunk at 8.a.m. All right. All right. I know what I’m doing!

Mick from UK Power Direct took it away in the end. He said the Trident could be very classy, but he didn’t say my rusty, paint-splashed one was although I still have a piece of its porcelain. His parents were from Mayo and Kerry but he didn’t say that until we were alone. I was lucky to have a Trident. If I was on the other side of the road, I’d have one of the Islington ones. We don’t tell people we call them Islington Deathboxes. You can’t work on them live – everything has to be off.

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