It was a decidedly wet Sunday afternoon, and Alan boldly resolved to add “weather forecasts” to his extensive list of untrustworthy things, which already included such deceitful knaves as “Urban Dictionary” and “Nick Clegg”. He sat dripping on an uncomfortable park bench, watching the world go by. Confucius sat beside him, pawing at said bench despondently. The bench was painted an ugly shade of green, except for where they appeared to have run out of paint and used an uglier shade of teal instead. Confucius was not impressed. ‘Well, this is just wonderful, isn’t it?’ Alan commented. ‘Woof,’ Confucius replied. ‘I wish I had found my umbrella,’ Alan said to nobody in particular. ‘Woof,’ Confucius agreed. ‘I mean, it must be in the apartment somewhere, mustn’t it?’ Alan mused. ‘It can’t be down the back of the sofa, can it, because if it was I would have found it when I found my shoes. I don’t know why I didn’t just put it in the umbrella stand.’ ‘Woof,’ Confucius reminded him. ‘Well, yes, that’s true,’ Alan admitted. ‘In that case, I should get an umbrella stand as soon as possible.’ They fell silent once more. The rain started to lighten. ‘At last,’ Alan murmured. The rain worsened again immediately. ‘Damn,’ Alan muttered. He glanced up at the tree beneath which they sat. He wasn’t even sure if it constituted a tree. It had about five spindly branches and leaves were scarcer than penguins in the Australian Outback. Hailstones beat through it like bullets through a handkerchief. Alan sighed. Confucius sneezed. Suddenly there was an elderly man sitting there beside them. Alan blinked. In his experience, elderly men usually walked at the approximate speed of a dying slug – except when they were crossing roads,...