I knew very little about marketing yet had been co-opted onto the national committee of a professional body to help sort out its image “problem”. I agreed to meet the two young members of male staff who had summoned me in the park. We chased one another round the mulberry bush three times (I won the game, almost catching up with my two opponents) and then walked to the office together.

In a low-ceilinged, turquoise and white breeze block, windowless room the staff handed envelopes of instructions to the committee members. We were to split up and travel the country to “spread the word”. The man opposite me opened his pack and groaned “Oh no, Exeter!”

“But just think of the blipping opportunities there” I said, in an attempt to encourage him.

He started straight back at me in shock. How did I know that he blipped?

I admitted that I knew that he was CO, that his journal was called A, and that he lived in Edinburgh. I then confessed to my own identity. When CO finally composed himself once again, he said that he recognised me too. I knew that he was just lying to save face.