TPR was either stupid, disobedient or both. He knew that the snow had forced us to switch our schedule: the previous night’s agreement was that instead of running outside at 10:30am, we would head to the gym after meeting a bunch of friends for coffee on George Street. So why was he outside in his shorts, in the snow, with RA and LM, all set to pound the Edinburgh cycle paths? I was just about to shout after him, when a gentle nudge from behind sent me tumbling down the concrete steps. In alarm, RA rushed over to pick me up from the ground. I was uninjured, but at a loss to understand why some unknown woman called Rebecca had just made an attempt on my life. Next a large lady clad from head to toe in black jersey appeared out of nowhere. She made a plea for all who had ever been hurt by a so-called friend, or who had inflicted pain on others, to come forward for a forgiveness ritual. This was most convenient. I declared publicly that I forgave Rebecca for trying to kill me, and joined the circle of women (which, incidentally, included JW) for a group hug. As far as I was concerned, the issue with Rebecca – whatever it was – was closed.

In the end TPR and LM did run that morning. RA, however, elected to come with me to George Street. The reasoning (identified by me) was that eligible young men are more likely to frequent city centre cafes than the cycle paths of Edinburgh. We returned to our hotel bedrooms on the first floor to get ready. On the landing we said 10 minutes, but in my head I doubled that time. Back in my own room I rifled through my handbag to check that I had enough cash for the coffee date. As I did this the man lying on my bed watching German television started asking me questions in German. I replied in the little German that I knew to say that I didn’t understand. Then I switched to French, but to no avail. Eventually I worked out that that the man was South African, so we continued the discussion in English, a language that we both understood. He wanted to know whether I thought that hotel room service would send up some Emmental cheese so that he could participate in the Canadian Library Association’s fondue night in Second Life. I shook my head and suggested that he try Netto instead.

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LW masterminded my trip to Manchester. It was designed as a “pre-visit” prior to the following month’s interview for the Very Important Job. The chair of the appointments committee just “happened” to be dining in the same restaurant as us. When he leant over and introduced himself to me with a peck on the lips it crossed my mind that they wanted me just as much as I wanted the new role.