The black banana that promised to contain a map inside was a grave disappointment. Now my sister J and I were lost with two Canadian cousins somewhere in the south of England with no idea of how to reach the A2.

We cheered up somewhat when we came across David Mitchell, and he actually seemed to welcome our over-awed attention. Our cousins had no idea of David’s celebrity status in the UK, although strangely he recognised Cousin T from his modelling days when T sported a mop of peroxide blond hair.

We all invited ourselves into David’s house and I made a batch of carrot soup using the chicken stock that I had stolen from the Uig Community shop. By the time that David’s wife and children returned home, however, we could tell that David had tired of us. Careful to spare his feelings, we didn’t admit publicly that we felt the same way about him.