Wall

Jonny tells me that he's asked the Friendly Builder to put a dividing wall in the attic. This is something of a blow, as the attic provides easy access to JB's house when he's out and about. Even at night time I've been known to venture into the enemies' lair. The LTLP snores like a passing freight train, so the odd creak here and there doesn't present a problem.

Why does Jonny want the attic to be partitioned? There must be some hidden secrets up there. Dead bodies? Dried blood staines? Crap old records? I'm a bit concerned that the Friendly Builder may discover the small compartment of my own that's home to some nasty secrets, but it's well concealed and he's not likely to spot the opening switch hidden inside JB's old guitar. I watch him as he builds up the wall, stone by stone. It's like he's building his own crypt. I prepare the shovel.

Installation

I use the free weekend to make some alterations.

Up through the hatch into the loft, over the accumulated detreitus, down through Jonny's trapdoor, and I'm in. I think of rummaging through his belongings for telltail signs of nefarious activities, but time is limited and he's far too clever to leave anything incriminating lying around. So I install secret cameras in the kitchen, the lounge, and above the bedroom. These little beauties will last for years.

Prague

I wait for him to leave the house. To my surprise, only three days go by before the premises are vacated. Jonny struggles out of the door with several heavy-looking suitcases.

"Going anywhere nice?", I ask. "Spain? Italy? Swaffham?"

"Well," says Jonny, "Prague, actually. You know. Eastern Europe."

I wonder at the audacity of his pronouncement. He must know that I have him under surveillance. This vicious cabaret that we are performing is beginning to affect me, psychologically.

What is there in Prague? Guns. Prostitution. Gambling. Stag parties. Maybe JB is going to smuggle back an armed poker-playing lout dressed in a Borat bikini.

Unlikely, granted.