‘You’ll see, I give it two weeks before they drop charges. Trust me.’

I wasn’t so sure, but if that was how he wanted to approach it then I had no objection. He still hadn’t been formally charged, so there was little I could do in any event.

‘How long you been wearing that shitty suit?’ he asked.

‘Nearly every day for two years.’

‘You look so cheap, man. Like a carpet salesman or a card-shop owner. It’s not fitting with your status. You need to sort it out, get a slimmer fit, a bolder look, like you count for something. You need to look in the mirror and reassess your presentation.’

‘I’m not flashy like you, Wayne. I’m what they call understated and reliable. It fits my line of work. If I wear expensive clothes, then my clients think that’s where their money is going. I’ve thought this through. I’m not a woodpecker; I’m a little chubby wren or a busy little thrush. You hardly ever even notice me.’

‘You look more like a parrot with that beak of yours,’ offered Wayne.

‘And talking about thrush, if you keep wearing those tight trousers that’s exactly what you’ll be getting,’ I replied.

I finished my coffee and Battenberg and headed straight off to Camberwell Magistrates’ Court, where I was applying for a summons against a landlord who was renting out accommodation to a client of mine that was unfit for human habitation. As I sat in the queue, I was surprised to see my old friend Clown Shoe Man standing at the counter. He was still trying to pursue the case against his neighbour. I was sat just a metre or so behind him so had a wonderful view of his massive shoes. As he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his left shoe would emit a little damp squeak. I love hearing noises like that in a formal environment. The lady behind the glass had a fixed, patient smile on her face that gradually faded as the conversation developed.

‘The thing is, he’s foreign’ – squeak – ‘and obviously doesn’t understand that an Englishman’s home is a castle that should never be trespassed upon by a stranger, particularly one of foreign origin.’ Squeak.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t see what the gentleman’s nationality has to do with anything.’

‘Then you are not fit for purpose.’ Squeak. ‘Let me speak to a magistrate or someone who might have a sense of the trauma this is causing me.’ Squeak, squeak. (Double shuffle.)

‘You have to fill in this form for the matter to be considered by a magistrate or justice’s clerk. At this moment you haven’t correctly filled in the part requiring you to outline the alleged offence. Until you do that, I cannot enter the request into the system.’