The car was so old it had a split windscreen and cracked leather seats. I had no idea where it had come from, but even so I attempted to drive it at break-neck speed while seated in the passenger seat. I took a long, sharp bend in the City and parked outside ‘Conran HQ’ in Islington. The lobby was impressive. With its vaulted ceiling and marbled floor it bore a striking resemblance to Grand Central Station.

When the receptionist asked if she could help me, I shrugged my shoulders. I had no reason to be here and left through the revolving doors with Jools Holland. As we went out, Danny Baker was coming in. I greeted him cheerily and that, combined with the fact that I seemed to know his friend, convinced him that he knew me. He asked me for a drink and I eagerly accepted. Over a glass of cider I told him (untruthfully) that I had lived in Deptford for 30 years. He was naturally impressed.

Later, and after having accidentally witnessed my former boyfriend propose to his new girlfriend, I realised all the streets of London were blocked and no-one could leave the centre of town. I stopped to look at a shiny new statue, made of parquet flooring but depicting a Victorian military victory. Something was not adding up.