I limped across Liverpool to Anfield to track down KA at work. Now employed as a physiotherapist at Liverpool FC, she would be able to massage my leg back to working order. I was particularly keen to be fit for a night out with our girlfriends.

Then I saw the bullying women. One was semi-naked and painted gold, reclining mid-air on a rope like an art deco figure. They screamed abuse at me as I set off for the evening. Their main accusation was that I kept a secret compartment in my handbag. This was apparently filled with £20 notes that I filched from the purses of my so-called friends. I shouted back that they would need to find a better reason to pick on me because this one made no sense at all. Remarkably this persuaded one of the gang – FF-A – to switch sides. She agreed to join me for dinner, much to the annoyance of the rest of her gang.

I felt a little uncomfortable at the dinner table when it was pointed out that I had committed a fashion faux pas: a white bra just visible under a black lacy top. (Apparently this was a worse crime than black satin shorts on a woman in her fifties.) This was soon forgotten, however, when I impressed everyone else at the table (including the daughter of one of the bullies) with my wide knowledge of European literature, in particular Cervantes and Don Quixote.