I was sitting in the front room on Sunday evening, enjoying the breeze after an unusually warm weekend. I had a book in my hand, one cat settled at my feet and another curled in my lap. The curtains moved gently, the house was quiet, and I had almost reached that rare domestic state in which nothing needed wiped, folded, moved, signed, soaked, charged or explained. Then Mr Gunn crossed the hall carrying my blow dryer.