There was something a trifle fishy about the nun walking down the street, as I staggered out of the Drones. I stood for a moment. Jackboots? The stiff-legged gait? After Spiffy Baldwin's horror stories about his time at the seminary, not even the machine-gun seemed out of place. Then it struck me, with all the force of a mis-directed cricket-ball passing the leg-boundary for six.

Nuns do not have wings.