I have been in the office for an hour or so. It’s a Wednesday, which is when I usually re-emphasise my alpha status by hugging all the other men. A few years ago there was a TV show about problem dogs. It ran late at night on those channels you basically only watch if you’re staying in a hotel, and it came on after all the other dross and it was full of bullshit Freudian analysis of misbehaving Rottweilers and doggy hypnosis to uncover past lives as a wolf. Homeopathy for dogs? Yes. Acupuncture? Yes. Massage? Yes. Colonic irrigation? Sure—why not? (Because it’s a fucking dog, you morons. If it’s unhappy and you stick a hose up its ass, I can almost guarantee that you will not ameliorate the situation one tiny bit.)