The University Principal found out that we were harbouring a Russian spy. She first tried to capture him by inviting us all to breakfast at her town house (with newly astro-turfed front lawn). Her servant served us, taking our orders by number Chinese restaurant-style. The plot failed. We managed to leave freely after the meal, our contact still with us.

The Principal’s second attempt to make the spy give himself up was to leave an anonymous note on our kitchen table. The deal that it described would free the spy on the condition that he revealed details of the whereabouts of all his contacts. There would also be a substantial cash reward for him. However, as a man of honour, the spy refused to play ball. He was perfectly happy to continue sheltering with us.

Meanwhile I had another problem to deal with: V and Tz’s poorly cat. I agreed to take it in a basket to the vet. This also turned out to be a dangerous mission when, en route, an enormous old English sheepdog bit my hand in the electrical department of John Lewis.