What can I say? It was far from my first rodeo.

I have to admit, there was also a part of me that was just a little bit impressed with both the content and execution of the graffiti, considering the circumstances. The letters were all perfectly legible, the words were well spaced out and, tell the truth, I wouldn’t have thought I had anything quite that existential in me.

A Cat May Look at a King

Legitimately quite interesting, I’d say.

And, oh yes, I coulda woulda shoulda told Officer Hanley and her mate I was quite lawfully standing just inside that posh Belsize Park property because I lived there. That in fact it was actually my dog poking his traitorous, hairy little snout around the corner of the house, trying to stay out of sight and pretending not to know me. If I had, I might have been able to clear up the whole matter there and then. But, standing there with a pounding head and a fairly serious case of love at first sight, I was already entertaining visions of a bit of flirty interrogation down at the Camden nick, a quick rap over the knuckles, then back home via my favourite cafe to pick up bacon butties for Dom and George. Possibly with Officer Hanley’s phone number in my pocket as a birthday bonus.

It was an embarrassment of potential riches, but if the way things went down seems a little foolish on my part, understand I’m not going to come right out and admit I allowed myself to get arrested just to try to get a girl’s phone number. Although for the record, I’ve done worse with some pretty outstanding results.

Nothing much untoward tends to happen in Belsize Park that early in the morning – except maybe an accidental overstretch in a Pilates class or a punch-on between a couple of Cavoodles – so the presence of a police car meant it wasn’t too long before the made-to-measures started twitching. I don’t think it would have been a surprise to anyone that the fuss had something to do with the resident of the garden shed of number 67, though. Because, while Dom and George more than meet local expectations (in-demand plastic surgeon with Dr Dreamy looks and a bedside manner to match; cute six-year-old kid with a floppy barnet and an infinite sense of his own worth), their lodger – i.e. me – not so much.

I wasn’t in a position to do a headcount, but by the time Officer Hanley, still very charmingly, suggested I accompany her down to the station to help with her enquiries (don’t mind if I do and would that count as a first date?), there was fairly good doorstep attendance. It didn’t include Dom and George, who could both sleep through a Mr Whippy van doing wheelies up and down the street at midnight (not one of my prouder moments, although to be fair I was just a passenger), but it did include Ray Dunstan from number 65, who didn’t even bother pretending he wasn’t absolutely delighted that I might finally be getting a big old serving of comeuppance.