As he plummeted through the air he realised that being a small black fan was perhaps not the most aerodynamic of forms he could have chosen.
How did they know? he thought desperately. Or does one of them have a fan phobia?
Summoning the last of his strength he transformed himself into an orange golfing umbrella, managing a safe landing, only slightly injuring his opening mechanism on a cobblestone. He lay there raggedly fluttering, while surprised pedestrians muttered and stared suspiciously upwards.
Mr T Collins however, never passed-up a chance to add to his umbrella collection. Justin found himself being borne away by that triumphant carpet-seller into a nice hotel where he was handed unceremoniously to a cloakroom attendant with bad hair.