I had been whisked off to a beautiful hotel by my ex boyfriend G, a former professional footballer.  However, it was now Saturday afternoon and I hadn’t actually seen him since we checked in 24 hours previously. 

I sought assistance from the housekeeper who helped me locate him in the cleaning cupboard just behind the supermarket tills.  He had decided that being cramped in the cupboard with his work was much more interesting than spending time with me.  He had also transformed into Rupert Everett.

I was justifiably livid.  “Why did you not tell me you were the UK’s leading homosexual?” I shouted.