mr jekyll is wrestling hyde

Last night, just as I'd switched off all the lights to hit the sack, the phone rings. (My family have impeccable timing — it's genetic.) So out I trudge to the living room to silence the thing.

"Hello?"

I am answered only by the sound of heavy breathing.

Luckily, I recognise that breathing, so I do not immediately panic and assume I am marked for a gruesome and grisly end.1

Instead, I adopt that crooning, cajoling tone popular the world over among those who have ever been treated to phone...