I’m not about to walk in and get myself electrocuted because some amateur doesn’t know his live from his neutral.

‘Show me first.’

He’s as good as his word, though. He flips the main switch and I hear the fridge judder as it starts up. Kush barks from the bathroom.

‘What about the cash?’ he asks as I escort him off the houseboat.

‘I never said I’d pay cash. Get him to send me an invoice. And tell him there’s no urgency.’

I close the door and let Kush out of the bathroom. Far from being pleased to see me he nearly knocks me over as he rushes to the kitchen where I find him paws up on the counter nosing around. I suddenly realize I don’t know how much a dog is supposed to eat. I consult the food packet I’d bought earlier, which helpfully gives me the number of grams per day per kilogram of dog. There are two problems with the instructions that I can see. The first is that I don’t know how much he weighs and don’t have a scale so I’ll have to guess. But say I get it wrong and give him a little too much? Surely we’ll get into a positive feedback loop? If I feed him a certain amount and he gains a little weight, then according to the feed chart he should get more food, which will then in turn …

I tip a load into his bowl and leave him to it. I’ll sort out the exact amounts another day.

I do a quick check through the houseboat, flicking switches on and off, and, satisfied, make my way back to the kitchen where Kush is still deeply involved with nosing the bowl. It’s like he believes by licking it more food will magically appear. He’s got this technique where he’ll gradually edge clockwise with his back paws whilst keeping his nose buried in the bowl itself. Round and round, the bowl slipping on the wooden floorboards.

‘I think that’s it,’ I tell him.

I drag him away for a quick walk up and down the canal, then I pop him in the bath and close the wooden door. I’m preparing to leave when Kush starts howling and scratching at the wood. I can still hear him as I’m getting into the car. Leah’s back on deck giving me evils. Two minutes later Kush’s jumping into the passenger seat with a wagging tail.

Dog one, human zero.

Thing is, it was either piss off Leah or piss off Vermeer. Neither’s really an option but Leah’s the more immediate threat, not least because of the welding torch’s blue flame, so I’ll just have to think of something on the quick drive over.