Prudence, still in Saturday morning torpor, has just been visited by, well, she's not sure what brand of Christian fundamentalist missionary.
Two men of indeterminate age, dressed in what can only be described as clicheed used-car salesman style. Not a name badge between them, and some very dodgy sunglasses.
One led proceedings, telling Prudence they were visiting houses to read people some scripture.
What Prudence would have liked to have said was: "Can I have your address so I can come around to your house unannounced and at an inconvenient time to read you some of my favourite fiction?"
What she did say was: "No, you're not." And shut the door.