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ridiculous woman from upstairs.”
    Clovenhoof opened the door with some speed and they were both inside the flat with the door closed.
    “See? It’s already furnished,” Michael beamed. “It’s perfect.”
    “How is it perfect?”
    “It just is and the fact that you already met the neighbours is a bonus, too. I’m sure you’ll soon make it yours.”
    “Make it mine?”
    “Yes, you know, add some homely touches, a few of your favourite things.”
    Clovenhoof stared at Michael.
    “What utter bullshit. Are you serious? So maybe if I get some cushions this place will be indistinguishable from my most decadent chambers? I don’t think so.”
    “Well I’m not going to stand here and argue with you, we’ve given you everything you need.”
    Clovenhoof growled.
    “What I need is-”
    But Michael had vanished and Clovenhoof was alone.
    “Tit,” hissed Clovenhoof.
    He stalked around the flat, grimacing at the domestic prissiness of it all. There were pictures on the walls of kittens, six of them, arranged in a perfect two by three grid. They were posed in flowerpots and wellington boots, all competing in their efforts to be cute and twee. Clovenhoof hated them.
    There was also a footstool.
    “I haven’t even got any feet!” yelled Clovenhoof. “You dumb-ass, angelic twat! What am I going to do with a footstool?”
    He picked it up and swung it at the offensive kitten pictures, shattering glass and breaking a leg off the footstool. He used it as a club to beat the fragmented remains of the pictures.
    A lampshade with a tasselled fringe caught his eye. His urge to destroy that was even stronger than his kitten-rage. He put it on the floor and lifted the end of the settee. He kicked the lamp underneath and slammed the settee down onto it. There was a small amount of resistance, so he slammed it down again and again until the base was pulverised ceramic and the shade was flattened. Then he climbed up on top of the settee and jumped up and down, roaring to be sure that nothing remained of the hideous lamp. The settee itself was covered with a cheery throw decorated with large abstract poppies. Clovenhoof clasped it above his head and charged around the room twirling the heavy fabric around and around, bellowing obscenities and shattering candlesticks, vases and various china ornaments in his wake.
    There was a hesitant knock on the door. Clovenhoof crunched across the debris to see who was there. He opened it to find Ben, the cider-and-black-drinking bookshop man, there.
    He was wearing a faded Saxon t-shirt and a concerned expression.
    “Oh, it’s you,” Ben said. “I thought it might be a ghost. Are you our new neighbour then?”
    “A ghost? Why on earth would you think-”
    “I meant rats. Yeah, I thought maybe it was rats,” said Ben. “It’s always a worry if rats get in a building. They breed pretty quickly.”
    Clovenhoof stared at the babbling idiot.
    “Have you been drinking?” he asked and then added, “I could do with a Lambrini myself.”
    “It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, it’s a bit early for me. But, er, do pop over for a cup of tea if you like. You know, any time.”
    “Tea?”
    “Anyway,” said Ben pointedly. “I can see that you’re in the middle of, um, redecorating.”
    Clovenhoof idly kicked a glass vase at the wall opposite.
    “Laters,” said Ben.
    Clovenhoof shut the door and decided to explore the kitchen.
    He knew about kitchens in the same way that he knew about coal mines or the insides of watches, he had never had the slightest inclination to find out what was involved, they just needed to be there for other people to deal with. He found that a kitchen contained a baffling array of equipment, all neatly arranged in compartmentalised drawers. Much of it seemed to be in the form of a jaunty cockerel. He wasn’t sure whether that was normal. He twisted a small cockerel-shaped plastic thing and it emitted a shrill ringing sound. He fixed that by clubbing it with a