We somehow herded all three dogs through town and back to the house, even though none was wearing a lead. TPR and I were still doubting our decision to bring a vicious Rottweiler, a nippy Jack Russell, and a scruffy mongrel back home to our flat. We’d only agreed at the insistence of O and R C-I, and with the proviso that the dogs be restricted to certain rooms.

The problem, however, was that the dogs didn’t stick to the rules and one discovered the blue corpse lying on a bed upstairs. The body was easily recognisable as an earlier version of TPR, even though it was much paler and less muscular than the current model, and sported black hair.

How was I going to explain that I operated a secret production line of husband upgrades from my spare bedroom?