He won't be happy

We're having a new toilet installed tomorrow morning.

In fact, here he is; all shiny white and clearly very happy. 

I've decided to call him Pharrell.

Meanwhile, at around lunchtime, Vanessa will reach the end of what I can only describe as an "iron woman" detox. It involves forcing specially made-up juice mixtures down you (well, down her) six times a day for three days. 

Nothing else can enter her body (shut up). And the end result will be a clear-out on Armageddon levels.

It seems that poor, smiley Pharrell is in for a one hell of a baptism.