My family members were still scattered around the house, lounging about and chatting, and ignoring my instructions to put on their coats and shoes in readiness for the trip out to the Edinburgh Fringe to see the Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre. The show started in half an hour, yet not even TPR heeded my demands to get out of the door and into the cars. Instead I discovered him in a state of undress doing sit-ups on the green bedroom carpet.

Then the doorbell rang. Another visitor could only make matters worse. My heart sank when I opened the door and saw who was there: my geriatric personal stalker, brandishing a gun. Both he and his fierce dog wore stockings as disguise over their heads.

I knew that if I refused them entry, I’d be shot dead on the spot, so I invited the pair of them in. It would take a short while, but in the basis of previous visits I was pretty sure that I would be able to calm my stalker down – so long as I first gave him a bit of space to rant about the dangers of social networking.

At least on this occasion I was not alone in the house. As I showed my stalker and dog into the hall I summoned all-male back-up in the form of my father, nephew P, brother-in-law M, and TPR. Within seconds we had wrestled the gun from our criminal visitor, then despatched him and his canine sidekick back into the night.