We move around a Taxidermist’s candlelit workshop. It is full of dark, dusty objects cluttering every nook and cranny. Stuffed animals, piles of bones, amphibians pickled in formaldehyde; all tools of the trade, all laid out ready for use. We then reach Mr Stuffit, huddled up by the fireplace alongside his daughter Jocasta; who is a stunning thing of great beauty. Nineteen and never been kissed, but if eerie Gothicness was ever made an Olympic sport, with her tatty Victorian clothing, wild black hair, alabaster complexion and antique Caliper strapped around her leg, then Jocasta would already be on the podium.

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