The kitchen is in pandemonium. Socrates is demanding the toaster explain how it knows when to pop up. Diogenes the Cynic is shouting insults into the oven. Heraclitus keeps running the kitchen tap for five seconds at a time. He looks confused. It's full of philosophers doing crazy things. Glad I had breakfast earlier. Hope they don't find the coffee.
The dining room is equally nuts. Jane Goodall has let the hamster out of its cage. Einstein is apparently deep in conversation with my plant. Stephen Hawking is complaining that the steps that lead onto my balcony are 'the worst in the universe'.
The living room is a total mess. Wassily Kandinsky is rearranging bits of old children's toys. Salvador Dali has put my wall clock in his armpit, and he keeps touching himself. Gross. Frida Kahlo is staring into the mirror, wiggling her eyebrows furiously.
The bedroom, oh the bedroom! Roald Dahl is looking for the essence of dreams under the bed, and C. S. Lewis is hiding in the cupboard. Beatrix Potter is chattering animatedly at the fungus growing under the window sill.
In the yard, Eleanor of Aquitaine is complaining about the garage doors being locked, while Henry the Eighth sneaks up behind her with a piece of rope. Queen Elizabeth I is demanding someone draw her portrait on the wall with our pavement chalk.
And, at last, I'm back in the room. The host turns over the last playing card. I've named them all in order. Beaming with pleasure, I quietly thank the 52 historical figures who made me the winner of the Memory Wizard competition three years in a row.
