Huinesoron drove up to the building, grinning from ear to ear. He stopped his Ford Ka, bounced in the seat for a moment, then leapt out of the door.

Inside the main hall of the building, he ran, beaming, to the pile of Kalashnikovs. "Yay!" he exclaimed, jumping up and down on the pile. Next around the room was a heap of kale, filling the whole space with a scent of cabbage. "Yay!" Then came a stack of kazoos and kaleidoscopes, jumbled up together, a mass of eye-watering colour. "Yay!" The table full of kangaroo burgers didn't escape un-bounced-on - "Yay!" - and nor did the nervously-assembled Kaisers and kafirs (though the kamikazi in a kayak did make his escape).

Past a stack of kabbalistic works - "Yay!" - and a massive body of works written in kanji - "Yay!" - the main attraction was waiting: Kaitlyn was lying on a bed, reading about kabuki theatre. She looked up as her husband approached, and grinned.

"Yaaaaay!"