Desperate to impress, I told the man that my friends were living in Vincent Price’s cinema. I promised to take him there even though I knew I couldn’t navigate my way through the labyrinthine corridors and tunnels.

It was obvious to everyone that I was intent on hurting myself or someone else. Why did I keep handling and dropping that loaded pistol when I should just have kept it in my holster?

Was this pasty man really going to be my new boyfriend? My impression that he was creepy was justified when later his two pale children crept downstairs to eat spaghetti hoops on toast. Were they imprisoned in the house?