I once stayed in a B&B in Hemel Hempstead. It was the early 90’s. It was a last minute booking. I arrived late in the evening (10pm) and the proprietor (male, late 50’s), opened the door with his massive belly tucked into a singlet and a pair of huge boxer shorts. He showed me to my room via the entrance hall where I noticed a faux, novelty, life-size, red telephone box that had been fashioned out of wood. Inside was a pay phone. He informed me that the phone was not to be used after 10pm. Once I’d gone to my room, I waited a while then snuck downstairs, to the hall, which was pitch black, to secretly use the pay phone to tell my then DB that I’d arrived at the B&B, safe and sound. I slowly opened the door of the interior telephone box, and started to ever-so slowly dial the number but within a few seconds I heard a high pitched screech, to the right side of me and felt my hair being dragged and pulled. I panicked, flailing, trying to get free. Next thing, there is the pounding sound of fatty proprietor, elephanting his way down the stairs as the screeching and wailing continues. The lights get turned on in the hallway and I see that what is attacking me is a parrot that the landlord places inside the telephone box, each night to stop late night phone calls.