Mel Giedroyc

The Downton Abbey-esque doorbell.

I don't live in somewhere like Downton Abbey, can I just say.

But my husband, for no good reason, has fitted a sort of Heath Robinson old fashioned brass doorknob thing outside.

Right.

Nobody knows how to work it.

The postman never sees it.

So none of our posts or parcels ever arrive because people think we don't have a bloody doorknob.

But anyway, it's a big old brass thing to which he's attached on the other side, a kind of spring mechanism and then some string that goes via the porch.

And then he drilled a hole and then it goes into the hall and it's connected to a silly old bell that he found at an auction.

Oh, my God.

It's not so much that, Max, but I do hear you.

It's that he loves to make life difficult for himself.

When you can do something easy, no, he hates that.

Do something really, really laborious and difficult.

So that, I'm afraid, is the reason for that.

I mean, it makes a lovely tinkling sound when you can actually work out what the hell it is on the front of the house.

So it did.

It tinkled and it went at exactly, it was 7.20 actually.

And I was delighted to see my lovely friend Jo with a suitcase, a wheelie suitcase.

She came in and she set up her makeup, hair, all the paraphernalia on the kitchen table.