With his mop of blond hair and angelic five year-old face he made an unlikely criminal, but when I confronted this gun-toting infant terrorist in the wood I was terrified. Although my revolver rested safely in my handbag, it would be too much of a risk to take my eyes off my adversary and hunt for it. In any case I really didn’t want to end my life in a shoot-out.

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When I asked TPR why we were driving south along the A1 in our pyjamas he pulled a face and explained that this was all for my benefit. Wasn’t I the one who had complained that our printer had almost run out of ink? He’d sourced the country’s cheapest supply of cartridges in North Berwick. I pointed out that it was the morning rush hour, the return journey by car would take two hours, it was already 08:30, and we needed to start work at 09:00. We’d never make it. Reluctantly TPR agreed that he should have simply walked up to John Lewis as originally planned, so we dumped the car in Musselburgh and caught the number 26 bus home again.