The garden of my great-grandparents’ house was crammed with people I knew, from TPR’s sunbathing ex-colleagues to my board gaming PhD students.

The latter group was my target. I promised them the full experience of the mess and quirkiness of a party at my mother’s house. The Volvo was just outside, ready to transport them there.

When I saw GB and her friend Toni (as noted on one of three ID tags clipped to her shirt), I extended this offer of unique hospitality to them too.

‘Well, that sounds fun’, said GB. ‘But we can’t come. We’re just confirming the final details of our trip to Guatemala’.