I was considering accidentally spilling my pint on him when there was some activity on stage and a man of remarkably average height and stature launched into ‘Can’t Get My Wi-Fi Working’.

The other rumour I had heard about Little Floyd Wetherspoon was that he’d sold his soul to the devil in return for the gift of the blues. I thought about the shed and whether I had left the door firmly locked and bolted behind me.

Friday September 28th

hipster cop

hipster cop

with his hipster well-cropped mutton chops

has a favourite case, for sure,

you won’t know it

it’s too obscure

hipster cop

with his hipster thrift-shop beach flipflops

rehabilitates hardened villains

he makes them listen

to early dylan

hipster cop

buys hipster chips from hip hop chip shops

gangland bosses he just don’t dig

he prefers their petty crimes

before they got big

After another troubled night, I opened the door again to DI Lansbury and Sergeant Tuck. They seemed preoccupied with the antics of Mrs McNulty, who was leaning out of her bedroom window, shouting, ‘It was him! It was him! He’s the one you want!’

I ushered the police officers inside quickly and mumbled an apology.

‘That’s just Mrs McNulty from next door!’ I told them, chuckling and shaking my head. ‘She’s such a character! Utterly bonkers, of course, but we all love her around here, the lovely crazy woman!’

I noticed DI Lansbury glance at Sergeant Tuck, who proceeded to write something in his notebook. He then asked:

‘Do you know anyone who might have wished to harm Mr Salt, sir?’

I pretended to think carefully before replying.

‘No, I don’t. Although I could think of plenty of people who might have wanted to harm his poetry!’

Neither man laughed at my joke. I could see DI Lansbury’s magnificent beard noticeably bristling.

‘How about yourself, sir? We’ve had it on good authority that you and Mr Salt had a small altercation the last time you met.’

Damn them in Poetry Club.

‘Well, I wouldn’t quite call it that. Just a mild disagreement about the nature of poetry. That kind of thing happens all the time amongst poets. We’re a passionate lot!’

He looked back at me, considering this statement.

‘So it would appear, sir. If anything does occur to you, then please don’t hesitate in giving us a call, will you? We’re beginning to think that Mr Salt’s absence may have been of a rather more permanent nature that we had originally thought.’

They left. Next door, Mrs McNulty was busy unfurling a bedsheet from her bedroom window, on which she’d written ‘HELP! I AM LIVING NEXT DOOR TO A MURDERER’ in red marker pen.

Saturday September 29th

Arklife

Competence was my reference as the scriptural voyager

on what is known as – Arklife!

And the monkey coop can be avoided if you take a route