As usual we were hosting a horde over the weekend. From the bedroom I could hear TPR joking with our guests in the kitchen, telling hilarious tales of our various recent exploits. At first I assumed that he was mentioning my name with affection, but from the looks on the faces of the others when I rejoined the party, I could tell that he had been making fun of me.

I waited until after everyone had left before I tackled TPR. What on earth had he been telling our friends?

He eventually confessed that he had invited his ex-work colleague Veronica and her drummer boyfriend from Manchester to spend a couple of days in our flat while we were away for a weekend. His kitchen audience had been in hysterics as he told Veronica’s story of working her way through the intimate contents of my wardrobe.

I was furious. I had no problem with allowing others to stay in our flat unaccompanied, but not without my knowledge.