THAT'S ONE OF THOSE '80S ONES.
BLACK GRANITE. IT'S A WASTE, REALLY.

IT'S 11 P.M. TIME FOR "ALAN'S LOVE ASYLUM".

OCCASIONALLY, I DOST VENTURE SOUTH.

WITH A GOOD-LOOKING MAN WITH COLLAR-LENGTH HAIR.
IT WAS THE '70S. BUCKAROO.

- THERE, THAT'S DISCONNECTED.
- GOOD.

- MY FATHER WAS VERY DISTANT...
- DID HE LIVE IN A DIFFERENT WING?

DO YOU WANT A LIFT TO THE CAB RANK?

"KOJAK"!

AND SHOUT, "GET OUT OF THE AREA!"
AND WATCH THEM PANIC.

NO, BUT THIS COULD BE A COMPACT SWISS CHALET.

- DO YOU WANT ME TO COME, ALAN?
- NO, THANKS, LYNN.

WHAT'S THIS?
IT'S A CAST-IRON EGG-TREE, LACQUERED.

- JED MAXWELL.
- NO RELATION TO ROBERT MAXWELL?

I CAN'T REMEMBER WHAT IT'S LIKE
TO DIAL A NUMBER FROM A TELEPHONE

WHAT?

(GEORDIE ACCENT)
AYE-AYE, MR PARTRIDGE, MORNING.

THAT'S SUCH A POINTLESS DEATH.

I LENT IT TO THAT BLOKE AT THE PETROL STATION.