There was a straightforward reason why I slipped through customs unnoticed and TPR was held back: I had lied about our trip, whereas he had admitted to the farm visit. Now I had to intervene to persuade the airport official to admit my husband back into the country. This proved much easier than anticipated: I simply lied again. So long as they knew nothing of our afternoon with the cows in the milking parlour, we would be fine. I was so relieved when the official gladly let TPR through the barrier. I was less than pleased, however, on hearing from this stranger that my Christmas present was to be an appearance on a reality television show. Now I was burdened with an acting role on Christmas Day. How could I feign both surprise and delight at the “news” that our flat would be the star of a Who do you think you are style show about buildings?

Changing nappies was much harder than I remembered, especially since this particular baby had a habit of disappearing into thin air. I needed to find her mother. I barged into the bathroom as my ex-colleague SAR emerged from the shower. I instantly forgot about the baby, distracted by the biggest personal collection of make-up and toiletries that I had ever seen in a domestic environment.