That night I brought in the laundry myself. The sheets were dry. Some moisture sort refuge in the inner pockets of jeans, but a slight dampness was only to be expected, enjoyed even. Appreciated. It was a sharper sensation than the dry sheets. The sheets offered only smooth dryness. The jeans had far more character. This is not always the case of course. The situation is sometimes reversed. Especially when silk is involved. Silk jeans are just not good at all. When you have silk jeans on your line, go with the sheets every time.

Having brought in the laundry, I suddenly realised that everybody must be dead. I'd never been able to bring the laundry in by myself before. A moments grief was replaced by a feeling of satisfaction. At last I was a man. Free of the confines of family and friends, I folded my sheets myself, and was proud.

It was now time to set to work. My life's work of course. The only problem was that I had yet to discover what it was. It should of course have been the acquisition of money, but tragically with everybody now dead I found I had inherited a considerable fortune. Plus a house in the country for the hunt. There seemed little point in gathering more of the stuff. As it was, I looked likely to need to give most of it away. For a moment I considered tax evasion as a work of life, but couldn't get very excited about it. I began to iron my jeans absentmindedly.

There was always bank robbery. There always is bank robbery. It is the answer to a number of life's difficulties. It has served me in good stead many times. The obvious 'Need money? Rob a bank!', the obscure 'Aardvarks attacked? Rob a bank', the domestic 'Need a bed? Rob a bank (unsuccessfully)!' You yourself must know how useful it can be. But then I remembered that I don't like my jeans to be ironed. 'Ironed your jeans? Rob a bank!' It doesn't quite work does it? It's close, lacks something. However 'Looking for a work of life? Rob a bank!' does have a certain ring to it.

No. It's not going to work I'm afraid. I was foolish to believe that I could conceal his identity by assuming it myself. Let me begin again without such subterfuge.

Thus endeth the prologue. A little later than is normally to be expected, bit of a bumpy start. Things can only get better.