And Mr Angry turns to the girls at their world processors with their ghetto-blaster going full tilt. "Turn it down," he says, and Jane's all defiance; you get no respect from girls like that (the atmospherics, incidentally, are Edmonton, Enfield, Wood Green, Palmers Green syndrome rather than Big London). So he's pushing away at the knobs himself. But it's set to digital 100 and he's transfixed, blitzed, positively neutron-bombed by the sound.
There's a rapid behavioural change. The sound of Kiss FM, the London station, based in the fashionable Holloway Road, turns him into a pussycat. His hair goes perpendicular, he grows little ears and he crawls around on the floor. As the potion takes hold he removes his trousers; underneath are fur-covered Y-fronts and a tail. After that there's escalation on to the meeting- room table with his fat white legs in the air while the double-glazing reps get their sales instruction; nuzzling up to the girls; sticking his tail in his colleagues' crotches - a whole repertoire of kitty things. The women love it, the men don't.
Then it's on and out into the street, the shirt's off and underneath there's a pink Kiss FM T-shirt. Away he strides, tail aloft, above those British legs in short black socks and Barratts special-offer lace-ups.
The parting shot of this Life Less Ordinary is the engaging Kiss logo - Live, sexy Kiss 100 - purple out of T-shirt pink and throbbing. It's amusing and utterly right for Kiss, the excellently live sexy music station. And I don't in the least mind its debt to Blackcurrant Tango's great British hero of 1998.