On Wednesday, Jeremy pooped a homunculus.
It looked up at him from out of the pan with unconditional love in its tiny eyes, like shining, hopeful currants in a gingerbread man's face.
"No, Dadda," said Jeremy. "No, wait - nothing."
The homunculus burbled and splashed around merrily.
Jeremy slowly pulled up his trousers and gingerly prodded the little creature in the head with the loo brush.
Could he just flush it out of sight and out of mind round the U-bend, like his late goldfish?
He bloody knew he shouldn't have done all that mandrake last night.