PM collected JC (but not me) in the new Bentley that her husband had mentioned the last time that we had met. The car was long, sleek and green. It’s most distinctive feature, however, was a most unusual personalised number plate that included the @ symbol.

With a call of ‘See you on Tuesday when we are all meeting at your house to cook Huku!’ P took to the road with her favoured passenger. I couldn’t remember ever issuing this invitation. What on earth was Huku anyway?

With nothing to do, I trudged around town, looking for JC’s house. Although I recognised some of the shops, I was soon lost.

After several attempts, I finally reached my destination. I let myself into the lower flat with JC’s keys, and walked straight into the cat litter tray, just as JC had predicted. The cat itself was not happy to see me. Ginger and extremely bad-tempered, it made several attempts to jump up and bite me.

Just as I was wondering how I would get through the locked door at the back of this lower flat and make my way into the larger section of the house on the floor above, a young girl with a a fading purple bruise on her temple appeared with a key. Now I had a run of the whole place.

Later I met JC in the stands at the anti-gravity stadium. There we watched the anti-gravity enthusiasts who had paid the steep entrance fee to learn all sorts of fun tricks while dressed in Superman outfits. Some simply floated in mid-air, while others took pleasure in dropping from small aircraft into the stadium, secure in the knowledge that their fragile bodies would never fall to the ground.