I took to spending my Sunday mornings at the Royal Botanics Gardens, Edinburgh. This was not because I was particularly fond of the plants. In fact, the gardens themselves were a bit of a mess. I noticed that some people even dumped their household rubbish in black bin bags amongst the alpines. Rather, I’d made such good friends with the staff that I had now been granted access to their facilities. On this occasion I was removing dirty linen from the elaborate clawfoot bath, and about to run a shower, when a Chinese gardener popped into the bathroom to pick up some horticultural supplies. We chatted amiably for a few minutes, both pretending not to notice my state of undress. (Meanwhile TPR was spending his Sunday mornings 42 miles away in Glasgow.)