We were all (including toddler JJ) squeezed around a big square table in Contini George Street, Edinburgh when a huge red-headed man in a kilt marched into the restaurant. He looked like an extra from Outlander. Most of us supposed that he was some form of in-house entertainment. How wrong we were!
He looked around, then made a beeline for our table and he grabbed me. My plea to TPR to put his muscles to good use and come to the rescue was ignored. Within minutes my captor had transported me against my will to a tiny terraced house in Birmingham.
Here I learnt nothing more about him other than that his hair was not real, but made of thin orange strands of plastic. For weeks he held me captive.
Then one day I managed to force him into an armlock, wriggle free, and rush out of the back door of the house into the cold garden.
Out in the open I ran towards the fence to the left, scaled it (doing my best not to cut myself on the barbed wire), and raced up the path of the house next door.
I rushed inside and explained my predicament as quickly as I could to the little old lady who lived there. Without hesitation, she headed straight outdoors to confront my attacker.