Because, from time to time, St Peter liked to go fishing, he needed to entrust his sacred duties at the Pearly Gates to an utterly respectable soul, one which was well-meaning and kind, trust-worthy and unusually wise. So, he selected with the utmost care! Mrs. Jones of North Wales was just such a worthy. A somewhat bewildered, but righteously proud, and not too tightly permed, white-haired old lady, would answer the call from her small, neat flat in the North Wales enclave of Paradise. Her only condition, and it was ‘non-negotiable,’ was that this new job would not interfere with the eternity of bliss with Stuart, her blast-furnace husband, as he didn’t like surprises, and wasn’t too keen on visitors either. It was agreed that the ‘little chats’ with applicants, as Saint Peter put it, would take place while Stuart was out doing something vital and unfathomable with the car.