Alfie Solomons, the grumbling eccentric git, was sat reading the newspaper in his armchair by the window, where it sat for the summer, Cyril laying by his feet.

"Alfie?" your voice perked his attention but didn't lower his newspaper.

"Yes dove?" he replied.

"I've got something to show you," you said, hoping the obvious lilt in your voice would convince him to lower the double-wide spread.