Percy Bluffer-Baton, third in line to the Earldom of Twinkle-on-Haze sat on the small marsupial shaped crenellation that extruded from the grassy knoll and had a moment. Percy’s moments tended to be on the short side, almost dwarfish in their brevity and contain three parts randomised anxiety, a pinch of paranoia and the merest tintagal of a rosy hue. Mostly they followed the discovery of a sartorial discombobulation – a dangling button, an inelastic sock top or a worrisome loosening of some fundamental stitchery. Today’s however took on a more gluttonous texture: his spats were splattered in what could only be described as a formless muddy blob having cubist aspirations.

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