Sadly, a lifetime in law enforcement tends not to create a bunch of grateful villains happy that you have shown them the error of their ways, but rat… - Jasper Fforde

Mrs. Next came back into the room. “You never told me you’d bought a gold-plated toilet.”
Landen frowned. “We don’t have a gold-plated toilet.”
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Next. I think I’ve just peed in your tuba.”

But his hits were greater than the sum of his misses, and such is the way with greatness.

No one had been more surprised than me by the arrival of the Great Panjandrum when I pulled the emergency handle. For the nonbelievers it was something of a shock, but not any less than for the faithful. She had been so long a figure of speech that seeing her in the flesh was something of a shock. I thought she had seemed quite plain and in her midthirties, but Humpty-Dumpty told me later he had been shaped like an egg. In any event, the marble statue that now stands in the lobby of the Council of Genres depicts the Great Panjandrum as Mr. Price the stonemason saw him—with a leather apron and carrying a mallet and stone chisel.