We were about to tuck into a big plate of fried bacon and black pudding at the communal table of the Hebridean guest house when we heard another party pull into the drive. They evidently had some problems parking the car. There wasn’t quite enough room for a full-sized Rolls Royce in an ordinary parking space.

I was a little unsure that these new guests would enjoy this particular holiday experience. I could already tell that they were a little puzzled by the accommodation and rather perturbed by the dining arrangements.

The following day I lost TPR. I found myself stranded at a rural railway station without cash and no means of ever being reunited with my husband.