June had a day off work and carefully rolled up her pipistrelle bat ears and then covered them with a hat shaped like a twelve inch vinyl record. I meanwhile hollowed out a log and unsuccessfully attempted to fit the engine nacelle of a Boeing 777 into the washing machine. We went out for dinner, glancing as we did at the still wet washing exiting the house hand in hand. Alexander the Great and a sizeable portion of his Macedonian army went under the railway bridge as we went over it, our coat collars raised in a heavy drizzle. I had my dinner in a hole in the ground unlike June who watched hers spread like tumbleweed across the great plains. As a joke we both counted the number of phallic carpet tacks protruding from a piece of flooring near the gentlemen’s lavatory door.