MI slammed the study door, then thumped along the hall to my bedroom, a thunderous look scored across her face. “You let my plants DIE!” she howled.

She was right. I had completely forgotten about the three pots of weedy stalks that she had asked me to look after. She was furious at the discovery of the yellowing leaves in dried-out soil.

MI stomped around the flat in a complete rage, then settled in my bedroom for the grande finale of her temper tantrum: kicking in the bathroom wall.