Peter-Bowman recognised the real estate agent for what she was immediately because she began pushing little cards under his door saying that she had a buyer looking for a well situated property in his area and was he interested in selling at all because she was certain that she could get him an excellent price so long as he put in a swimming pool or perhaps a tennis court and had the place painted a more interesting shade of orange. He gingerly stood up. The cards continued to rain down like fairy floss until he opened the door.

'Hello', said the real estate agent. 'Would you like to sell your house?'

'Well. It's a phone box.'

'Yes, and a very well located one it is.' The real estate agent handed Peter-Bowman another card. This one had a picture of exclamation marks on it. I didn't like to just say it had exclamation marks on it, as that would not give the correct impression as to the size involved. 'You'd be surprised how hot the market is for well located phone boxes is at the moment. Just last week I sold one around the corner for a million dollars.'

'A million dollars? For the phone box around the corner?' Peter-Bowman was rather alarmed at the thought of owning property that was worth that much.

'Yes! A cool million. Think of that! And that one is not nearly as well situated as yours. I think I could get you double that!' The real estate agent excitedly jumped up and down on the pavement waving a brochure of some kind.

'You have hairs up your nose,' said Peter-Bowman. This utterly failed to disconcert the real estate agent. She simply began leaping up and down while tilting her head at such an angle that Peter-Bowman could no longer see up her nose. After a while Peter-Bowman became giddy and wondered if the hairs were a product of early morning hallucination. The real estate agent continued to talk.

'Phone boxes are booming at the moment. All the politicians and rock musicians are buying them to live in now. Why, just last week I had a private detective call me and make an enquiry all the way from Paris! Can you believe that?' The real estate agent was so excited that by now she had begun snapping her fingers as she jumped up and down. Peter-Bowman was a little giddy, but belief was one thing that he was certain about.

'Yes, I certainly can believe that. In fact, I can believe in just about'

'So you can see that when I'm getting that sort of interest, phone boxes have just got to be the hottest item of property you can possibly own at the moment,' the real estate agent interrupted. Peter-Bowman was beginning to get the impression that she really didn't care what he said, or even if he was present at all. To test this new theory with scientific rigour, he stepped back into his phone box and made a cup of tea. He continued watching the real estate agent through the glass.

It seemed to be true that Peter-Bowman was not actually needed for the real estate agent to continue her pitch. She enthusiastically waved leaflets around. Then she began to sing a song. It is important to distinguish between this song and the song that will eventually lead Peter-Bowman into recognising his work of life. This is not that song at all. This is just something the real estate agent made up on the spot. The important rock song that is so necessary for Peter-Bowman's full understanding of his work of life is of course still being written at this point by Claire. Claire has of course become somewhat distracted of late by her investigation into the French words, but the song is still burbling away somewhere in her brain, and not in the brain of the real estate agent. The real estate agent has never been either to Paris, or been a senior advertising executive in charge of the Sara Lee account and so has never had any even vague contact with the important rock song. She also has no access to a time machine. I felt it necessary to make this point clear at this time, just in case you became confused about the two quite separate songs and decided that real estate agents hold the answer to the great question concerning Peter-Bowman's work of life. Very few of them in fact do. Fewer than five, as it happens. They have all been shipped off to a leisure camp somewhere or other to make sure that they can in no way influence Peter-Bowman into completing his work of life too early and make you think that real estate agents are founts of wisdom. They are not this. They are real estate agents. Since Peter-Bowman could not hear the song of the real estate agent, muffled as it was by the glass of his phone box, this problem has most likely been greatly exaggerated. But you can never be too careful. Peter-Bowman stepped outside again without the real estate agent having noticed his absence.

'I think that the central problem is that I don't actually own my phone box. The phone company does. I suspect they would get alarmed if I put it on the market and would probably stop the free cleaning service that I find so very useful.' Peter-Bowman could see no way around this problem, though he hated to disappoint anybody who was clearly so very good at jumping up and down with her head tilted while snapping her fingers in time to her song. The real estate agent looked crestfallen and handed Peter-Bowman an exclamation mark with a card on it.

'I'm sure you'll change your mind these prices are not going to last for ever you know you'd really be very wise to take advantage of the current state of the market I know you'll thank me for it when you have the money in your hand so that I can sell you a nice phone box in a hot location near the sea.' The real estate agent was really going for it now with all she had. Peter-Bowman applauded politely when she successfully completed a triple back flip in mid air while still maintaining her leaping up and down with her head tilted and snapping her fingers in time to her song that was now, he had to admit to himself, growing somewhat strained. But still, such an acrobatic feat was not to be sneezed at, and so Peter-Bowman pulled out his handy box of tissues and used one as a concealing device. The real estate agent looked grateful for his act of kindness.

'I'm really sorry,' said Peter-Bowman. 'I just don't think I can sell my phone box at the moment. I'm rather expecting a phone call any chapter now you see and I really can't afford to miss it as that would mean that I would never achieve my work of life.' This is in fact a lie. Peter-Bowman did not say that, as he doesn't yet know it. But it does seem to have been useful in getting the real estate agent to leave, though not before riding a Shetland pony bare back in the manner of Godiva while performing a triple back flip and leaping up and down still with her head tilted and snapping her fingers in time to her song.

'I'll call again when you've had a chance to think it over,' she said as she disappeared into a sunset that really had no business being up and about at that time of the morning but was a rather convenient destination for her.