Although our house was not as grand as those of our neighbours with their massive tiled entrance halls, I was still distraught to learn that it had been damaged by a combination of flood and fire. Especially annoying was that my new suit from Hobbs looked fine from a distance, but on closer inspection it was obvious that I would never be able to wear it again due to visible staining.

My sister S was also concerned with clothing. In front of her was a pile of knitting patterns, all of which featured grey-haired ladies sporting saggy blue cardigans. I volunteered to try my hand at cable stitch, but soon got into a complete pickle. The man clicking his needles opposite me smiled smugly to himself, then announced snootily that the French could not knit either. Another man at the table was working on a tiny bottle green garment. This was a bib for Baby Ted. While I racked my brain trying to work out how this man could possibly know of my sister J’s teddy’s predilection for woollen garments, he finished his work, fetched Baby Ted from beneath the White House drawing room window, and tied the bib around Baby Ted’s tiny neck.

On another day a university friend and I were heading out for a walk and coffee when we heard beautiful singing coming from a bus shelter. The voice belonged to another friend AW. All were delighted to see one another, AW joined us at the cafe, but declined the invitation to come back to the flat with us. Her refusal concerned her mad ex-husband and the mistaken belief that I was harbouring him at my flat.