Mrs Klein the housekeeper had had enough, the ungodly cries, constant electricity drains, no access to the cellar, then all the gossip in the local inn.

“This is the last omelette I’m making for you! I’m leaving!” she cried.

“Okay, I’ll read it later, thanks,” murmured a distracted Doctor Frankenstein.

Alex Sinclair was born in the winter of 1973 in Nottingham, England, and, on the cusp of his 40th birthday, is still trapped there. He longs for a looser, more liberal society where his own shaky morality and absurd beliefs could find succor and praise. Until that day, he bides his time, waiting to pounce like a graying and jaded ocelot. To amuse him and occupy all available time for the next 40 years of his life, he has just become father to twins, who, though but 3 months old, are acutely aware that daddy may not be quite right in the head. This small matter is overlooked as he can expertly and lovingly feed, burp, and nappy change each baby in just 15 minutes, whilst also attend to cooking duties downstairs with good humour. He lives with his long-suffering partner Shona, and cats David and Mogwai.