I’d had enough of TPR’s ‘book’ group buddies. Each Monday night he invited more and more men to the house, offering them a seat at our dinner table along with a plentiful supply of beer.

I eventually cracked the day that EH’s husband J turned up. TPR plonked a plate of sausage, egg and mashed potato in front of him then left me to deal with the fall-out of his ‘But I’m a vegetarian’ complaint.

When TPR led his crowd of friends into the back garden to admire our new shed, I took my revenge: by locking them all in the tunnel under our lawn. The house now clear of blokes, I hoped that EH would play Carcassonne with me.