After revealing a carefully folded letter of notice, Clive squinted down the spectacles he had placed daintily on the bridge of his nose. They looked minute framed against his hulking face, as if he had plucked them from a doll.
The Doorman gave his brain a headstart before his lips started to move, and cleared his throat in a way he thought sophisticated, but to most a seismic death-threat.

“Ms. Agnus, the Ministry of Inter-dimensional Affairs formally requests your immediate attention to the compromised nature of your property,” began Clive, rolling out each syllable in a way Gecko found both pathetically endearing yet immensely tedious.
To his delight, the old bag allowed herself to cut in before the big lump could continue.
“Mr Clive? I’m a woman of years. Simpler words would be a kindness.”
Gecko poked his crudely stitched head from out his partner’s pocket.
“I believe my partner is referring to the gaping dimensional gash that has appeared over your mantlepiece, you dozy mare.”