Not that this has ever happened to me, but if I were to find myself in a long and boring zoom call, I might feel inclined to do a bit of online shopping at the same time.

The sort of thing that I might find myself bidding for would be books about working animals. I could work myself into a lava in the search for Lloyd, an illusive police horse, probably long since dispatched to the knackers. If I were to find such a treasure, at an all-inclusive price, I could find myself struggling to say what I really thought in response to a plea for my input. I would have no problem reverting to that tried and tested response, “nothing to add to what has already been said,” or “I think what you think.” Yet all the time I am unable to get Lloyd the Police Horse from my mind, expertly handled by his brave rider with his 1980s haircut.

Who knows why these things happen. I have been unable to get Lloyd out of my tiny mind. Then I had a piece of luck. Danny the Guide Dog could be mine for £1.49 including p&p. I could barely contain myself.

The highlight of teaching the son about how Guide Dogs come into this world and are prepared for their life as a working dog, was obviously the bit about how Danny learnt to poo in just the right spot.

From my vantage point as average height, my sensitivities are never challenged when my chum Radiator commands “busy busy” which is Guide Dog talk for poo on command. My sensitivities were somewhat taken by surprise to find myself examining a photo of Danny mid-way through his ablutions. Here, I must try hard not to apply my human fear that I should find myself photographed doing my ablutions, because Danny the Guide dog probably experienced no such sensitivities. The Son, on the other hand, was thrilled beyond words to be the proud owner of a real-life story featuring a real life dog poo.

I have been accumulating giant font books to read to the Grand. I confess that the print in my “dog eared” copy of Danny the Guide Dog, is rather beyond me these days, but oh how I long to introduce the Grand to the joys of pooing on command.

Once Danny is embedded in his consciousness, I wonder where this will leave the “huge hoover” that we use to make our stately progress round Sainsbury’s, or tap our way round the station with. Could the cane find itself dislodged by a dog?

I’m still hankering after Lloyd. Mist the Sheepdog seems to have Long since disappeared into the fog of memory. Ping Pong the Elephant in headed my way and should make it from Market Harborough by next Tuesday.

If a newer younger Danny ever comes up for sale, I will make a bid. Meantime, all day zoom calls have nearly always had my full attention. This pledge was only once subverted by a job lot of wooden railway track and a vest for the cat, which is what I hope will stop him licking himself raw after being in yet another fight.

Let us hope that I am never subject to any kind of digital check that may reveal my shopping habits and the moments at which they take place. I’m not sure how I will explain away the industrial quantities of rinse aid let alone the axe, bought in error twice. My shopping habits may be a bit on the unusual side but they have seldom disappointed. The exception being the William Morris pillowcases that turned out to printed with pictures of He Man.