David Mitchell and I were meant to be studying, but we kept on catching one another’s eye across the library table. As I wondered what it must be like to be married to him (lucky Victoria Coren) I found it very difficult to concentrate on my work. In the end, I abandoned my book and wandered around over to David, put my arms around his neck and asked him to tell me tales of his Scottish ancestors. I was particularly interested in his great-, great-, great-grandfather, the Reverend John Forbes, who served as a minister on the Isle of Skye, and had a rather cruel interest in the sinning parishioners of Sleat.

Of course this lack of attention to my studies had dire consequences. When I returned to the University of Birmingham for my fourth year I missed the Friday 10th submission deadline for my dissertation on Rabelais. I also had nothing ready for teaching any of my own classes on the first Monday of term.

I complained about this to LF as she prepared food for the THS reunion in her caravan. She showed no sympathy: I should have checked the e-mail last week from SR and AA and completed the work as requested.

David Mitchell is a Dreamaticus regular. See him elsewhere in An afternoon with David Mitchell (Rousse); David Mitchell’s photography one-upmanship lands university professor in trouble (Rousse).