The star attraction at our breakfast party was international cellist US. I was so proud to have successfully tempted her over from Denmark to Hexham to spend the morning at my long-dead grandmother’s house. Other guests included JC and VJ (both looking svelte in jeans and slinky black tops), JC’s husband G, and a Scandinavian gatecrasher.

The party itself was not a success. Before long everyone did their best to misbehave. US turned shy and refused to speak to the Scandinavian; the Scandinavian didn’t take the hint, kept on talking and moved so close to US that she was almost sitting on her knee; and GC refused to put raspberry jam on his toast on the grounds that it contained “bits”.

Worst of all, two guests were incredulous that I would object to their smoking indoors at breakfast time. They argued that they had every right to do so: hadn’t my granny smoked 20 a day in this very house for two decades? I threw the pair of them out on to Broadway Gardens. They were no longer welcome at our table.