I was in the back seat of a car driven by Richard Osman.  As I looked out of the window I once again felt the sharp pain of unrequited love. 

He parked the car and dashed into his house, returning with a gift for me.  It was beautifully wrapped in thick clear plastic and tied with a royal blue ribbon.  When I opened it, however, I was disappointed to find only baby sprouts, sprout tops and coriander seeds. 

When we arrived at my house, my mother had left us all a drink of watered down, warm Baileys Irish Cream.  When I picked up my glass it shattered into a thousand pieces.  Obviously, she was still trying to kill me.