The Fat Man (pushing back the chair to accommodate his huge stomach): ‘I feel compelled to speak, sir, indeed I do. Compelled, sir, is a mild description of the obligation under which I am placed in this matter. My story is a simple one, the story of a man who loved not wisely but too well.’ (Wipes a tear from the corner of his eye.) ‘A man who ate not from greed, but from passion. Eating, sir – I do not attempt to disguise it – has been my life. Couched in the ruins of this old body are the traces of some of the most exquisite dishes ever cooked. When horses have collapsed beneath my bulk, their legs shattered or their lungs flooded with their own blood, or I have been forced to renounce the fruitless struggle to intervene between the seat and the steering wheel of a motor car, I have consoled myself with the reflection that my weight has been won, and not merely “put on”. Naturally, I have dined in Les Bains and Les Baux, but I have also dined in Quito and Khartoum. And when the ferocious Yanomami offered me a dish of human flesh, I did not allow prudishness to prevent me from requesting a third helping. Indeed I did not, sir.’ (Smiles wistfully.)

Nanny (huffing and puffing): ‘Human flesh indeed! Whatever next? You always were a strange boy.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ screamed Patrick silently, as he paced across the faded green carpet and turned around abruptly.

Gary (raising his eyes to heaven with a charming little sigh): ‘My name’s Gary, I’ll be your waiter tonight. Today’s specials include a Dish of Human Flesh, and a sodium-free Frisson of Colombian Cocaine nestling on a bed of “Wild Baby” Chinese White Heroin.’

Pete Bloke: ‘Haven’t you got any Hovis, then?’

Mrs Bloke: ‘Yeah, we want Hovis.’

Hovis Voice-over (theme music from Coronation Street): ‘It were grand when I were young. I’d go round t’ dealer’s, buy ’alf an ounce o’ coke and four grams o’ smack, order round a case o’ champagne from Berry Bros., take wench out ta Mirabelle, and still ’ave change from a farthing. Them were the days.’

He was dangerously out of control. Every thought or hint of a thought took on a personality stronger than his own. ‘Please, please, please make it stop,’ muttered Patrick, getting up and pacing about the room.

Mocking Echo: ‘Please, please, please make it stop.’

Nanny: ‘I know about the aristocracy and their filthy ways.’

Humpo Languid (laughing disarmingly): ‘What filthy ways, Nanny?’

Nanny: ‘Oh, no, you won’t find Nanny telling tales out of school. My lips are sealed. Whatever would Lady Deadwood think? Rolling stones gather no moss. You mark my words. You always were a strange boy.’

Mrs Garsington: ‘Who is in charge here? I wish to speak to the manager immediately.’

Dr McCoy: ‘It’s life, Jim, but not as we know it.’