For a while I’ve been concerned that a rogue hypnotist has been getting to the houseboys and mesmerising them, putting them under, so to speak. Just this afternoon, I found Bernard Aloysius wandering down the bad part of Turk Street, sound asleep in his underpants. God knows what might have happened to the poor thing if I hadn’t stumbled on him in the very nick of time. For that matter, there was a very suspicious grease spot all over his, well, never mind. My point is that the boys are easily enough confused without this type of “mind control.” It’s just not right, I tell you.