"I drew on your sofa." Acutely embarrassed, a red flush spreads across my cheeks. They lift up the pile of papers I had conveniently placed, to reveal a harsh black line on lemon yellow sofa cushion.

"Don't worry about it. We wouldn't have noticed. How was the cat?"

Savage. Temperamental. Bit. Clawed. "Fine. She purrs a lot."

"I listened to your CDs." If I don't tell them, they will notice the difference sooner or later anyway. They will think to themselves..."The Cars were after the Kinks, not Supergrass." They will notice the cracks where there were none before.

"OK. Have some chocolate."

Next time, I don't want them to pay me. It feels wrong. People who inflict black fine-liner onto pristine sofas should not be payed, let alone then given chocolate. I think they may be relying on reverse psychology.