Surely it were Fagin ... That schlocky-fox - self-confessed middleman, and we haven't even searched his apartment yet - has been trying to hoodwink us agin! *turns out sionnach's pockets* Let's see now. One bus ticket San Francisco-Madrid. Two balls of fluff, unrecognisable. One penguin-shaped chocolate vibrator. Three colly-birds. Two double-entendres (okay, we'll count that as 4 then). Seven phone numbers of vacas de promenadas sordidos in a small black book. One copy of 'Protocols of the Learned Elders of Qroqqan Grammartrynessociousumbrage'. Sundry pieces of navel lint (I shall spare you, friends). One certificate of Alien Abduction by Leo Sayer And Friends. One prescription for Tylenol signed by Dr Mainly On The Pain. Four rubber bands (one broken) showing traces of Rangoon, Kabul and Pyongyang (not in that order). One Poetic Licence (doggerel-eared).