I was to have gone to an exhibition followed by a movie, but to mark the return of our dear Ulysses in patriam I went instead to his new digs where we tried to make Persian rose tea out of a basin (no teapot.) Rosebuds, he explained, being the only Iranian thing he could think to bring back.

Julian: [Your Byron] got slightly bent in an incident in Esfahan by the way, and I apologise, but you'll have the crease as a reminder of where it's been.

Me: Ooh tell! Why, why is my book bent?

J: [Some long and involved tale that boiled down to 'I was careless when shoving it into my backpack.']

Me: What? When you spoke of incidents I expected exciting hijinks! A masked bandit came at you with a scimitar and you deflected the slash with my Byron...

Julian: Drat. I should have said that.

Me: Is this the house tour? I thought you were going to lead me around pointing out the fancy features! I came prepared to be agog!

J: You are wasting your agogness. I'm barely moved in. Do you not see those twenty boxes?!

Me: I thought you would go around pressing buttons and things descend from the ceiling and you say oh this lever here opens that sliding panel there and all that.

J: I expect you are thinking of Gormenghast.