Our book group meeting was packed out with non-members including N & SY, and a red haired former student of mine whose name I could not remember.

The venue for the night was a turreted Victorian lodge house next to the sea. I was impressed that colourful plants grew outside the door, even though we were in the depths of winter. The house was not so handsome on the inside. I suffered claustrophobia in the tiny room where we left our coats. I wasn’t sure whether it was the enclosed space that set me off, or the dense pink-flowered wallpaper that simply made me feel ill.

MH committed a terrible faux pas in the upstairs room designated for discussion of the book. She brought in a plate of pastries and handed them round for everyone to eat. She had not understood that these treats were meant for the family of the house, and not for us.