Luxury is the wolf at the door and its fangs are the vanities and conceits germinated by success.

Here is dear sweet little Hanky climbing up a fort, recreating the storming of the Bastille.

Unlike the events of 1789, Henry found no passers of dodgy cheques (times four), no "lunatics" (times two), and most definitely, no perverted aristocrats with a predilection for fresh-faced young boys (thankfully).

No, all we found was some bird poo.