As you all know I’m a man who makes a point of being smartly turned out. If you’re blessed with an elegant figure and can turn a fine leg, it seems silly not to allow the eye to dwell on your finer points.

Therefore over the years, the way young Mutt dressed has often been a bone of contention in our household. Frankly he looks as if he has dived naked into a pile of rags and come out wearing those which have somehow become entangled around his person.

I have done my best, indeed at one point I introduced him to society resplendent in pink velvet knickerbockers and matching jacket. Strangely enough that occurred barely weeks before the tale I am now about to relate.

It happened that I had been invited to perform to a gathering at the house on the outer edges of Dilbrook where it almost…