I handled the mark 2 silver Ford Granada like a tank, and with complete disregard for the other vehicles parked on Edinburgh’s Cockburn Street. When it came to reversing into a space I was so lazy that I didn’t even glance at the mirrors to check that there was room. It was inevitable that I would damage someone else’s car, and on this occasion it was a metallic green Ford Fiesta (also a mark 2). The crushed bodywork reminded me of the green foil of a discarded Quality Street chocolate triangle wrapper. This latest incident brought my tally of write-offs for the day to two. In the morning I’d already wrought havoc on the High Street in my red Peugeot 205.

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I’d seen it done before in public at a conference in Berlin, and it was an easy mistake to make. However grey-haired financial services executives should be able to distinguish JP Morgan from Morgan Stanley. As it was, IS had not started a new job at either of these firms. He’d had a much better offer. As the men discussed his merits at the board room table, IS was actually out of the country – with me and TPR, on holiday in the desert.