I stepped out on to the damp grass in my bare feet and poked my head around the corner of the shed. A young guy in a suit and tie was flailing about on a four-stack of B&Q’s finest blood and bone trying to untangle his limbs.

‘Who the hell’s Pete?’ I was talking to Dom but I kept my eyes on the visitor, tossing up whether or not I should alert him to the bucket of stagnant water directly behind him, where George and I had been running a very long-standing science experiment.

‘Hi. Me, I’m Pete. Pete Barker. Look, sorry about that, I didn’t mean to frighten you, but your landlord said . . .’ He looked over at Dom for support. ‘And I did actually knock first.’

Dom took a bite of toast and grinned benevolently, clearly enjoying the entertainment. Pete Barker, on the other hand, looked miserable and, damn it, I could feel myself softening towards him. His face seemed slightly familiar, and I wondered if I’d met him down at the pub at some stage.

‘OK. Right then, Pete. I’m guessing that as Dom obviously let you in, or at least didn’t keep you out, you weren’t planning on waking me up to murder me, but, and I’m sure you’ll forgive my curiosity, what the hell are you doing perving in my window at the crack of dawn?’

Pete finally managed to right himself, and it turned out we had a bit of a man mountain on our hands. He looked about seven foot tall, and even through his suit I could make out a pretty impressive physique. He made the shed look like a cubby house. I saw his eyes flick down to his watch and decided that if he dared say seven twenty wasn’t exactly the crack of dawn, I’d land him in that bucket of slime myself. To his credit, he didn’t mention it, but Dom let out a loud snort from the peanut gallery.

‘I’m here about the . . . the, um, newspaper.’ He did have a leather satchel slung across his body, but he seemed a little too old and well-dressed for a paper round. He glanced hopefully over at Dom again, but Dom was having none of it.

‘We did – well, I mean, I did a story last week in the Double. About the . . .’ He waved his hand vaguely around in the air, seemingly to a point over the top of the house. I looked at the roof to see if I could work out what he was talking about.

‘The double what?’ I was genuinely stumped for a few seconds, but then the penny dropped. ‘Oh, bloody hell, that newspaper. Right, about the, um . . .’ It was my turn to look at Dom for support, but he was examining his fingernails and trying not to laugh. ‘The quote. The graffiti stuff. OK, got it. So that was you? Well, thanks for nothing, mate, and if you’re here to tell me I haven’t cleaned it off fast enough, you can jog on. I’m working on it.’