I was participating in some sort of cookery competition where the challenge was to create a delicious three course meal from a random set of ingredients. I looked at the root ginger, spices, tomatoes, bananas, pineapples and the lone tin of custard on the kitchen table and realised that this would be quite an easy task for an experienced cook such as me. Unfortunately my 15-year old partner was useless. I thought that she would at least show some interest, especially since she was a fan of curry. Instead she just stared silently at the ingredients and expected me to do all the work.

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Mme D had left Auvergne to run a big English estate. I arrived at the house just as the event was starting. I helped myself to a plateful of parma ham and struck up a conversation with SM, who was there on his own because PM was too tired to come out after a night on call.

In an outbuilding further down the drive it was rumoured that my parents were examining pictures and antiques. I set off to find them (perhaps to boycott any possible purchases) and it was there that I stumbled across the real party, which was heaving with family members, running club pals, and school friends.

Then I looked down at my outfit and realised that I was completely inappropriately dressed. I decided to get changed. After trying on lots of clothes I ended up in pink silk tunic top that was meant to be worn as mini dress, but looked better on me over a chiffon split skirt. Now aged 48, I was finally beginning to learn how to dress more modestly.