I awoke on Saturday morning to the gentle and chummy chit chat of Radio Four and what I thought was the sound of housework. This was as odd as it was unsettling. There was a strange smell too - gone was the usual ass and wet dog smell that hangs in the air and despite your best efforts makes your clothes appear like the unwashed garments of a real ale drinker or one of those people who spends all their time with barn animals and I don’t mean farmers either. No, this was a reassuringly pleasant odour but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. There was the moreish smell of sizzling bacon but also the healthy whiff of Pledge or Mr Sheen or some other household cleaning product. I lay there, stiff as a board, almost scared to moved lest I scare the pleasantness away. I could hear the twit twins talking, quietly, there was reserved laughter and what sounded distinctly like a conversation. It had been so long since I had heard a conversation in this house that it didn’t appear obvious at first. The closest you get to a conversation within these walls, other than with a door to door sales chap, is when somebody is barking their food order for the Chinese takeaway at you.