Major Marjoram was a trifle discombobulated to find a young man in his garden with palette and easel.
‘And who the blinking blighty are you?’ he bellowed across the hen-pecked yard.
‘Me?’ the young man looked round to see who was calling. ‘I’m Danny. Daniel Crisp. Your wife commissioned me to paint the outhouses. I said I’d do it for free if you grant me permission to sell it on. Biscuit tins, jigsaws, greeting cards …’
‘Bah!’ the major choked on a stream of exclamations. ‘I wanted them painted, not PAINTED.’