Where Insch was bald, Steel looked as if someone had sellotaped a Cairn terrier to her head. Rumour had it she was only forty-two, but she looked a lot older. Years of chain smoking had left her face looking like a holiday home for lines and wrinkles.

Mr Cameron Anderson was in his mid-twenties and hailed from Edinburgh: which explained why he had a first name like Cameron.

That’s the trouble with care in the community – nobody does.

Should probably do.

Logan didn’t know which was worse – discovering your husband was a lying, adulterous bastard, or a dismembered corpse.

Nah, mostly they’re just students. Bit of weed, bit of booze, bit of studying, bit of pining away in their rooms wondering why nobody wants to shag them.

Logan battered to the end of ‘Started Out With Nothin’, drove in silence for a minute, then launched into ‘Living Is a Problem Because Everything Dies’. Making up half of the words as he went along.

Must be nice to be a seagull. You eat, you sleep, you shag, and if you’re having a bad day you can shite on everyone from a great height. Doesn’t even have to be a bad day, you can do it just for fun.

But in a fit of inspiration he’d fashioned a balaclava from a Tesco carrier bag – the handles tied beneath his chin.

Honestly, some days it’s like trying to get an angry ginger tom into a pair of Lycra cycling shorts.