When the three of us emerged from the tube station I instantly recognised Covent Garden. This was nowhere near High Street Kensington, our planned destination. VAE was confident that she would persuade the station staff to let us back in with our used tube tickets. She would simply tell the truth and explain that we had mistakenly got off at the wrong stop.

We pushed our way past the crowds back into the main hall of the tube station and checked with the station master that we would be permitted back onto a train. He said that this was fine. We then followed the signs to our platform.

We never reached a train. Instead we caught the end of an Elton John concert in a large auditorium stuffed with palm trees. The whole room was decked out in red and white, as was Elton, his piano and his band. We stood at the doorway and watched the performance. I wondered how the audience could tolerate the toddler in a pushchair at the back of the hall wail through the songs. Then – to my complete horror – VAE’s friend started to join in the singing too, her voice competing directly with that of the pop superstar. It was at this point that I vowed never to speak to her again.