The Birmingham University reunion switched venue to Aberystwyth. There I caught up with SC, HW and CP and others – supposedly to reminisce about our undergraduate days, but in practice to moan about the deficiencies of the modern-day husband.

Also on the agenda was the pact that SC and I had made to embark on a PhD in French together. I was panicking. How would I manage this after almost three decades removed from any engagement with the French language and literature? The only strategy that had any hope of working would be for me to take a taught course where the assessment was based on French novels that had been turned into films. That way I could probably still manage the exams without struggling to read the books.

This was, of course, absolutely pointless given that I already had a PhD to my name.