My mother-in-law told us that she was “just popping out” so why had she left us for hours with nothing to do other than put away the dishes? Eventually we gave up on her and caught a lift to the shopping centre.

On the lower floor I was surprised to find members of my own final year undergraduate class, all here for some sort of organised gathering. Although everyone else was in the know, I was clueless. Had I really planned another reunion? And what was this ghastly uniform that they were all wearing? My contemporaries looked terrible, all dressed in short boxy Channel-style suit jackets made of thick bouclé fabrics in a multitude of lurid colours. What had happened to their sense of style? Didn’t they know that this was not a good look?

Now I was faced with the challenge of being the one in charge of a huge group of badly dressed (mainly) middle-aged women, with no plans whatsoever. There was also the risk that my mother-in-law would reappear and expect my attention.

I approached a member of staff on duty at one of the food court stands and asked where we might hold the reunion. She pointed to some vacant shabby seats and tables behind her. This would have to do.