While I was recovering from the sight of R’s bronzed buttocks hanging out of the tightest pair of denim shorts imaginable, K pulled me outside to show me the evidence of the affair. “Just look at all those uneaten packed lunches” she said, pointing to piles and piles of tiny sandwiches, all wrapped in cellophane and strewn across the lawn.

This supposedly proved that K and P had been sharing romantic lunchtime trysts. I very much doubted this given that neither party liked the other very much. And why would K be gossiping about herself in this way anyway? If what she was revealing to me were true, this was a shameful admission and certainly not something to boast about.

Keen that the sandwiches didn’t go to waste, I took them out of their wrappers and set about feeding them to the seagulls.