We ended up in the lobby of the Scotsman Hotel on North Bridge in Edinburgh. The journey taken earlier to collect a couple of documents from my office was less than half a mile, so I guessed that the five pound note pulled from my purse would cover it. My work visitor also started scrabbling around in her handbag for cash, but I persuaded her to put her money away on the grounds that I could claim the cost back on expenses. The taxi driver – a tiny old lady with a fierce stare – scowled at my offering and said “£13”. I put the five pound note away and extracted a twenty. She crossly rejected this too, with the words “I said £30!” I reluctantly handed over the full amount, but no tip. This was the last time I would book an Edinburgh taxi on a Sunday morning in the holidays.

There was yet another surprise at work when I returned after the break. My old office mate had vanished and was replaced by a small Japanese woman who could barely speak English. She had colonised my space on the left hand side by the door, so I was expected to take position on the right by the window. I popped next door to ask MR and AA what was going on. However, like PT, it appeared that they had been abducted too. Their room was bare, expect for a large man huddled over AA’s computer keyboard. He looked dangerous, so I backed out of the room as fast as possible. Fortunately I don’t think that he spotted me.

On another day TPR and I were sunbathing near the dune at the top of the beach when we spotted the first tsunami warning signs. As the sea disappeared into the distance beyond the usual shoreline we reminded one another of the routine: take a deep breath and cling to each other when the wave strikes. This time it wasn’t as painful as before and we survived. The brown jelly fish shaped like enormous sultanas thrown up by the wave were new on this occasion.