Grouse or Duck, Part 2....

Ten minutes passed. I couldn't hear anything happening downstairs apart from some muttering. But suddenly, there was a dull click and H yelled for me to come and help him. I've watched enough Bond films to know a silencer when I hear one, but I couldn't let my husband bleed to death on the (brand new) (ludicrously expensive) (and as far as I know, not blood-repellent) kitchen floor, so I raced down the stairs and burst into the room.

Miraculously, H was alive, and sitting at the table opposite a huge, hairy fellow who was waving a knife around.

'Put your hands up,' I yelled 'I have a deadly weapon!'

H looked across at the intruder. 'She really doesn't,' he said 'unless she's going to sing at you!' He and the man both laughed.

I was horrified. I'd read about Stockholm Syndrome, but had no idea it could happen so quickly.

'Mendax' said H, 'meet George. I was trying to make him some toast, but the toaster's making funny clicky sounds. Didn't you hear me shouting for you?'

Dear lord this was worse than I thought.

'George - as if that's his real name - has broken in, killed the dog, poisoned the parrots, brainwashed you, is holding us to ransom with a....a butter knife' I screeched, 'and I'm supposed to fix the toaster? Are you absolutely insane?'

H laughed again. 'No. But I'm not going to argue with George's accomplice' and he nodded to the door, where a woman stood with the limp body of my dog in her arms.....